


Omertà

by HanukoYoukai



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Science, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Character Death, Don't copy to another site, Flashbacks, For the most part, Gen, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Manipulation, Michelle Jones Is a Good Bro, Mild Language, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Organized Crime, Original Character(s), POV Peter Parker, POV Tony Stark, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Whump, Pre-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Protective Tony Stark, Strangulation, Suicidal Thoughts, Tags May Change, Trapped, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2020-06-28 10:51:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 154,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19810759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HanukoYoukai/pseuds/HanukoYoukai
Summary: After chasing down the criminal that took Uncle Ben's life, Peter is found by James Wesley, the right-hand man of Wilson Fisk--a wealthy businessman trying to clean up Hell's Kitchen. Having left a strong impression on the man, soon Peter finds himself working for Fisk, doing an internship for his business projects by day, and catching bad guys at night. If Mr. Fisk wants a fewspecificcriminals delivered to him personally, who is Peter to object? All his boss wants to do is talk, after all, and ever since this internship began, things were finally looking up for the Parkers.Then Peter hears the whispers in the underworld about the elusive and terrifying Kingpin, and somehow there are rumors that Spider-Man is on the Crime Lord's payroll. When he decides to use his own judgement and go against Mr. Fisk's wishes, Peter suddenly finds himself neck deep in mob activity with no means to get himself out.To make matters worse, now Iron Man has Peter in his sights.....





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> So this is a work in progress that I started ages ago. It's properly outlined, and I know where it's heading, but seeing as it's still a WIP, please be aware the chapter count and tags will most likely change. 
> 
> Omertà is an Italian word and it is a code of silence, especially in regards to criminal activity. It's so much heavier than "snitches get stitches/end up in ditches" (depending on where you're from), as it it pretty strongly ingrained culturally. Not only would you fear for your life if you broke your silence, you would also be considered lesser, and a coward, and all the bad things.

Peter Parker was a good kid. He went to school, kept his grades up, tried to keep his head down, and would do his chores for Aunt May and Uncle Ben. He didn’t start fights on the playground, and if he was on the street and heard something bad happening, he knew to keep away and find a cop if he could, but otherwise he should not get involved.

Queens could be dangerous, especially for a scrawny, nerdy weakling like him. He was a prime target. He was small and skinny, and his size and glasses put a neon sign over his head that screamed “easy pickings.” His hair and eyes were too brown to stick out to anyone, and he was a pasty boy who looked just like any other teenager. He wasn’t special. There was nothing memorable about him, so if he got mugged, or kidnapped—who would be able to tell anyone anything? He would be one of the many faceless victims, lost in the masses if he were attacked and left for dead—if May’s paranoid ramblings had any merit, anyway. His best defense was his invisibility, and his ability to ignore other people’s problems.

After the bite, everything changed. He wasn’t as skinny anymore. He could run his laps without having to worry about an asthma attack. When Flash broke his glasses, it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Instead of wandering around dealing with double vision, he managed to convince his aunt and uncle that he was wearing the contacts they got for him at the beginning of the year. _It just took getting used to, May, really. They don’t bother me at all anymore._ It looked like his luck was finally turning good.

The powers were a pretty neat bonus.

When he needed to dodge bullies in the hallway, he could _run up_ the walls. He knew ahead of time when some creep tried to pick his pocket on the subway which he discovered because of a weird crawling sensation that sparked at the back of his neck. The craziest thing was the taxi.

It had been barreling toward him while he was in the intersection, as he rushed from Delmar’s to home, ignoring the light. At the blare of the cab’s horn Peter spun to face the yellow car and grabbed the front with both hands. Somehow, he lifted the cab up before dropping it down on all four wheels. The cabbie stared at him with wide brown eyes, his mouth hanging open as he gripped the steering wheel tightly, ignoring the white and red lei swinging wildly back and forth on his rearview mirror. After a moment of hesitation Peter bolted, zipping out of the street and down the sidewalk to be lost to the masses once again.

The truth is, Peter didn’t know what to do with all of it. Suddenly he had all this power at his fingertips. He felt like he could do anything! He could join sports, or maybe win money at some of the underground fights he’s heard about. Hell, he could even be a superhero, like Iron Man!

Then again, he had seen what had happened to other kids who started acting… weird. Enhanced? Like that goth girl, Ellie. Ellie was two years ahead of him, and he liked her, even if she was a little dark. It started out small. She knew every answer to every test question. She would predict something about someone’s day and most of the time, she was right. It was enough to make you wonder. Then one day, Harry said something obscene and intolerable about “the gays,” (Harry was a nice guy, but he was straight up ignorant some of the time—but what do you expect with a father like Norman Osborn?) and Ellie _lost_ it. She didn’t lose it like a normal person, though. Losing it for her involved her skin glowing super bright and blasting a row of lockers in the general area Harry was standing. He was lucky not to be hurt.

Some weird people in sunglasses and dark coats showed up after that, and Ellie disappeared.

Peter figured she had just transferred schools, but he had been talking to Michelle a lot about possible government registration acts that were being discussed for enhanced humans (“ _a direct violation of our civil liberties, Parker, because they fear what they don’t understand and they want to control what they fear,” she said, more passion in her voice than Peter had ever heard before_ ), and it made him wonder if maybe something _else_ happened to the girl. Once he got bit by that spider and he started changing, he knew his best bet was to lay low. So what if he could actually play football? He couldn’t then, so he shouldn’t now. If he started winning street fights, he would start to get attention, and besides, May would have a heart attack. As for being a superhero? He was fourteen! He didn’t know what he was doing. He needed to avoid drawing attention to himself so he could get through school, graduate, go to college, then make his own living. He had already designed some pretty cool wrist devices and a liquid rope adhesive in his chemistry and shop classes. They would be a great start for a tech company, or even a career as a professional stuntman. Once he had the wherewithal to protect his friends and family, _then_ he could go out and be the next Avenger, if that was something he still wanted.

So when that guy who robbed the convenience store on the corner by his apartments bolted past Peter and he did nothing, he felt a twinge of guilt disappear in a sea of self-preservation instincts that he had been cultivating his entire life. Yeah, he let that criminal run right by him, but he was just a kid. It wasn’t his responsibility to stop the guy, it was up to the police. They were supposed to watch out for the little guy, after all. Sure, they could probably use some super-powered help, but he never saw _Iron Man_ stop a robber. It was just too small for superheroes to deal with, and the teen wasn't even a superhero. He just had powers.

Two nights later, when the same thief shot Uncle Ben in front of Peter, he felt like his heart tore itself out of his chest. When he dropped to his knees, pressing his hands against the man’s wound as his uncle gasped for breath that wouldn’t come, Peter was in agony. May was screaming into the telephone and he was lost in a whirlwind of pain and shame and guilt. Ben pressed his hand against Peter’s cheek, smiling a little. _“You’ll be okay,”_ he whispered, before his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

The police officers and coroner arrived to take their statements and remove Ben’s body from the apartment. They issued soothing platitudes and offered services, giving empty promises that the criminal would be found.

Peter saw red.

The next day he went out in a red hoodie and blue jeans, searching every dark hiding place where scum like that would hide. Unleashing his fury on unsuspecting criminals to get information about this asshole was freeing. It was amazing. No one else could do what he could, and he would bring Ben’s killer to justice, because he was righteous, and nothing would stand in his way. The information he gathered led him to an Irish bar in Hell’s Kitchen. Peter watched from the shadows as night fell, waiting for his target.

When the man finally did appear, his entrance was unexpected. He burst through the doors, looking around as though startled before taking off down the street. Peter stayed hidden, hood up as he chased after the man, watching from the rooftops. The thief sensed he was being followed and ducked down an alley to hide from his assailant. Peter ran after him, dropping into the alley and blocking his only exit. The man whirled around, and Peter shot some glue at his foot, keeping him there. The mugger pulled out a gun and aimed it at Peter. Peter felt that extra sense warning him—guiding him. He dodged the bullet after the gun fired and snagged the piece with another sticky rope, pulling it out of the man’s hands. Peter wrapped his hand around the handle and held it at his side as he stalked forward, finger on the trigger. The man fell back, still stuck to the concrete below. He covered his face.

“No!” Peter shouted and the man raised his arms in alarm. This _murderer_ would not be allowed to hide from him. Peter lifted his free hand and blasted the fluid again, this time pining the man’s hands to the ground as well. He had no choice but to lie there as the enraged teenager stood over him, holding his life in his hands, just like this bastard had done to Uncle Ben. He lifted the gun with a shaking hand and aimed it at the villain’s head. The thief’s eyes widened, and he shook his head, begging for his life and screaming for help. Peter’s hand trembled so badly he had to support it by grasping his wrist. He stood there, shaking, aiming the gun but not pulling the trigger. “Why?” he asked bitterly. “Why did you kill him? Why did you kill my uncle?!”

The man shook his head, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry kid, don’t shoot me. _Fuck,_ don’t shoot me, I don’t want to die like this,” he begged, Jersey accent thick.

Peter laughed, but it sounded more like a sob. “You piece of shit! Who—how _dare_ you freaking— _you killed my uncle!_ ” His eyes filmed over with tears as he stared at this monster who was begging for his life. It would be so simple. Just one squeeze and Peter could rest easy, knowing he’d got the bad guy. The bad guy who he _let_ rob a convenience store, who didn’t stop taking and taking and _taking_ until his uncle was dead. The bad guy who was wearing dingy clothes and a ratty jacket, and who was old enough to be Peter’s dad but was crying like a little kid. Peter trembled before him, holding all the cards, ready to see the light leave this bastard’s eyes. Peter just wished this thing looked like the monster he was, instead of a regular person. It would be so much easier if he would _just—stop—crying!_

“Don’t,” a voice called down the alleyway. Peter went very still but did not lower his weapon. The robber craned his head to see around Peter, and he blanched at whoever was approaching, silencing himself. The sound of heavy footsteps against the ground filled the space as the mystery man moved toward them, not stopping until he was directly behind Peter.

Peter felt the tears spill onto his cheeks. “He killed him.”

“I know,” the man sounded calm, and didn’t appear at all alarmed at the scene of a fourteen-year-old boy holding a full-grown man at gunpoint.

“He wasn’t—we were _home!_ We were at home where we’re supposed to be _safe_ and this… this _shitbag_ killed Ben!” Peter could barely bite out the words as he started to shake again. The tears were blurring his vision.

“Yes, but you caught him, little spider.” Peter shook his head. “You did,” the man continued calmly. “You avenged Ben by catching his killer. Now he can face justice,” at the sound of his uncle’s name on the stranger’s lips, Peter lowered the gun and looked over his shoulder to see a smartly dressed man calmly surveying the scene. He was similar to Peter in that he didn’t look very special—dark brown hair and blue eyes hidden beneath thick frames. He had the kind of face that wasn’t memorable. He stood about half a foot taller than Peter, and was wearing a fine, dark blue suit—very out of place for their current environment. Peter eyed him warily for a moment.

“Spider?” he asked quietly.

The man smirked. “Well yes,” he gestured towards the thief pinned to the ground. “Webs.” Peter glanced back at the man, really looking at the fibrous adhesive covering each limb. Then he focused on the weapon in his hand before dropping the gun completely. As it fell to the ground, he felt as if he was deflating. All the adrenaline that had been pushing him here left him quickly, and all he felt was exhaustion. His body was sore from his earlier fights, and the fact that he hadn’t eaten all day was much more noticeable. His victory over his uncle’s killer left him feeling somewhat hollow inside. The stranger walked up next to him and slowly reached out to grab his shoulders, turning Peter so the pinned villain was behind them.

“Walk with me,” he said, pulling Peter out of the alley. With his hand wrapped around Peter’s bicep, he drew the teenager toward a long, dark car that was parked nearby, where a man smoking a cigarette leaned against it. Peter scrubbed at his face, still shuddering a little as he cried, and was unable to really take in any details of his surroundings. The bespectacled man left his side and murmured something to the other, but Peter couldn’t hear much over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. His heart was pounding, and everything was dialed up to the point where he couldn’t focus. He felt his breathing quicken, his sixth sense still warning him of danger even though the monster was behind him, trapped and immobile. A hand gently pressed against his shoulder, causing him to jump.

“Hey, it’s okay. What’s your name?” Peter stared at the man’s leather shoes, still scrubbing his face. He reached a point where he was just irritating his skin, but he couldn’t seem to stop. The man grabbed his wrist, making him pause and look up.

“P-P-P-Peter,” he stuttered out, sniffling. “Peter P-Parker.” The man ducked his head down, ensuring he made eye contact. He was smiling slightly.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Parker,” he said softly. Peter nodded a little, calming his breathing. His head ached after all the stress of the night. “What you did was very brave.” Peter shook his head. He didn’t feel brave. “Where do you live?”

The teen sniffled again. “Queens. Forest Hills.”

“How clever you must be, to have tracked your uncle’s murderer all the way out here,” the man smiled. “I’m very impressed, but that’s quite a long way to go on foot. Please, let me give you a ride home.”

Peter pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes until spots appeared beneath his eyelids. “I’m not supposed to get rides from strangers.”

The man chuckled. “You’re not supposed to threaten to assault people with a deadly weapon, either.” Peter had to admit, he had him there. “If it makes you feel better, my name is James Wesley. I’m the personal assistant of Wilson Fisk,”

“The guy in the white suit cleaning up the city?” Peter knew of Fisk. He was on the news a lot, talking about rebuilding the community in Hell’s Kitchen. He even started an outreach program to rehabilitate gang members and wayward youths and helped them become productive members of society. May thought he was just what Manhattan needed.

“You’ve heard of him. That’s good. I appreciate young people who are wise enough to keep up with current events,” Mr. Wesley said as he opened the door. “Please, Mr. Parker, I insist. If I left you out here alone after all this and something happened to you, I could never forgive myself.” Peter sighed and nodded. After all, this guy stopped him from committing a crime, and it was cold and dark, and Peter was _tired._ He climbed into the back of the car, twisting his head as he heard a sharp buzzing sound. Mr. Wesley pulled his phone from his pocket, frowning as he looked at the caller ID. “Mr. Parker, I’ll just be a moment. I’m going to close the door so you can warm up, alright?” After the boy nodded the door was shut. Peter stared down, noticing the contrast between his dirty sneakers and the clean, black carpet of the limousine.

_Wait, a limousine?_ Peter looked around, noticing small open compartments beside the seats holding little candies and bottles of water. Then he looked up and saw the driver of the car looking back at him through the rearview mirror. Peter shrunk back a little, slightly nervous. _What am I doing? I know better than to get into a stranger’s car. May would kill me for acting this stupid,_ he thought to himself. As he was trying to decide the best way to exit, the door opened and Mr. Wesley got inside. He sat in the seat across from Peter and turned around to face the driver.

“Start heading towards Forest Hills. We can get Mr. Parker’s address from him on the way. Derek is going to be occupied for a while,” he said. The driver nodded and pulled out onto the road. Peter gulped, not looking away from Mr. Wesley. That sixth sense was going nuts. Mr. Wesley eyed him for a moment. “Give us some privacy,” he said, calm as ever.

“Yes sir,” the driver said. With a mechanic whir, a dark partition slid up, separating the cab from the passengers. They rode in silence for several minutes, Peter’s anxiety increasing with every passing moment.

“Are you nervous, Mr. Parker?”

Peter jumped. He wasn’t expecting Mr. Wesley to speak. The man stared at him, frowning as he waited for a response. “Uh… no, sir?” The brunette raised an eyebrow, disbelief evident all over his face. “I mean. It’s just that I don’t _know_ you sir, and I really shouldn’t have gotten into this car even though it’s really cool, but my Aunt May would kill me for doing it and my head must not be on straight right now because otherwise I _never_ would have, so I feel really stupid and a little scared and I don’t know what’s going on and it’s kind of freaking me out,” he babbled. Mr. Wesley stared on impassively. “Not that I think _you’re_ scary, really. I mean you are, but not like mugger scary and you don’t seem like a kidnapper or like you’re gonna do anything to me, but I still don’t know you. And my head hurts and I’m tired and kind of thirsty and I’m not sure what I’m doing so….” he trailed off. Wesley looked down at his lap with a very tiny smile on his face before reaching to what looked like a cabinet door beside him. He pulled it open and looked over the contents.

“We have bottles of water, or if you like, there are some cans of Coke.” Peter blinked at him. “You said you were thirsty,” his smile grew a little.

“W-would it be okay if I had a Coke?” Peter asked, somewhat baffled. The man nodded and handed him a red can, smile even bigger. He didn’t show any teeth, but the gesture put Peter’s heart at ease a little. He let out a small, relieved laugh as he thanked the man for the drink.

“Mr. Parker, it’s alright to be nervous. You don’t know me, and it may have felt like I coerced you into getting in the vehicle,” Mr. Wesley said, a serious look in his blue eyes. “Please, allow me to assure you that I had no intention of making you feel that way. I truly was just worried because you are a very young man to be out in Hell’s Kitchen so late. It can be dangerous.” Peter nodded as he cracked open the can before taking a sip, allowing the bubbles to tingle on his tongue before swallowing the sugary liquid. “I honestly do just want to make sure you get home safely, and I wanted to pick your brain a little on the way.”

“Pick my brain?”

“Yes. The fact that you managed track Mr. Morgan all the way from Forest Hills in—how long have you been searching?”

“I… um, I started at 9 this morning.”

Mr. Wesley looked at his watch. “11 hours. What did you even have to help search him out?”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck. “I remembered what he looked like and knew one other place he robbed.”

“That’s truly remarkable, young man. What you did with your limited resources is very impressive.” Peter blushed a little at the praise, smiling into his soda. “Who supplied you with that adhesive you use? The webbing?”

“I made that in the lab at school. During chemistry,” Peter said after taking another sip. He relaxed a little more.

“Amazing. And those?” he asked, nodding toward Peter’s wrists.

Peter pulled up a sleeve so Mr. Wesley could see the wrist devices more clearly. “I made them in shop,” he said with a shy smile.

“How old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

“Unbelievable. A man with your capabilities is rare. Do you know how special you are, Mr. Parker?”

Peter blushed harder, looking away from Mr. Wesley. He sometimes heard praise from his aunt and uncle, and even from teachers at school, but it was never like this. Mr. Wesley seemed genuinely pleased at Peter’s accomplishments, and while he didn’t know Peter at all, he believed Peter had done this work without question. Most adults in his life always asked him how he could have come up with the right answer without writing out the problem or grilled him about little details in the projects he built, like they thought he was _cheating_ or something. With Mr. Wesley it was like he knew what Peter was capable of the moment he laid eyes on him. Not only that, but he called Peter a _man,_ not a boy or a kid. He shook his head a little, both pleased and dazed by the admiration.

“I imagine you’ll put these skills to good use. Can you tell me where you live, Mr. Parker?”

“Oh, sure,” he said, rattling off his address. Mr. Wesley rapped on the partition to pass the information on to the driver. The rest of the way they exchanged information. Peter shyly asked about what Mr. Fisk was like, which Mr. Wesley seemed happy to answer. When Peter told him his weakest subject was Spanish, Mr. Wesley quizzed him until Peter could easily ask for and give directions to various places. He was blown away when he learned Mr. Wesley spoke 6 different languages fluently. Likewise, Mr. Wesley was pleasantly surprised that Peter went to Midtown, and that Peter got a full scholarship to attend. Before he knew it, they were parked in front of his apartment building.

“Thanks for the ride, Mr. Wesley,” Peter said, reaching to open the door.

“Of course, Mr. Parker,” he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small business card, handing it to Peter. “This is my contact information if you ever need it.” Peter smiled, taking the card and slipping it into his pocket. “You did well tonight. That man will get what he deserved.” Peter opened the door and stepped out before frowning.

“Wait, we left him in that alley! That adhesive—the webbing stuff—it dissolves after an hour!” He said, alarmed.

“No, Mr. Parker. Derek took care of Mr. Morgan.”

Peter let out a relieved sigh, glad Mr. Wesley had someone call the police. “Good. He deserves to be locked up.”

Mr. Wesley smiled, but at the sight of it Peter felt a familiar zing go up his spine, causing his heartrate to spike. “You’ve got quite a future ahead of you. I’ll mention you to my employer. He likes to help the youth of the city. We’ll be in touch. Good night, Mr. Parker.”

Peter nodded and closed the door before making his way back to his home. When he stumbled in, May panicked, fussing over his bruised and dirty body, yelling the whole time. Peter apologized, feeling his emotions catch up to him. As he felt the warm embrace of his aunt he burst into tears, and in response she hushed him and stroked his hair, comforting him through his stress and grief. It didn’t take away the feeling that if he had just stepped up and done something, none of this would have happened. He was determined to never let anyone else be in his place if he had the power to stop it.

Someone had to look out for the little guy, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like the Easter Eggs?
> 
> This is one of those "What if," fics. What if the circumstances were _just_ so, to somehow put Peter on Kingpin's payroll? What would happen?
> 
> Peter wanting to take care of himself and family without help AND being afraid to talk will pretty key to the story development. 
> 
> So yeah, basically Peter is reluctantly working for the mob. 
> 
> That's the first chapter. Please let me know what you thought in the comments. 
> 
> Also I am happy to talk about my fics at my tumblr. Follow me [@hanuko. ](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/) If you have requests, feel free to hit me up there and I'll do my best. :-)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spider-Man has finally made his appearance, and has caught the attention of a certain business mogul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm beginning to wonder if I should add Michelle Jones as a tag. She's not really _in_ it yet, but she gets referenced a lot, and will continue to be referenced. Let me know what you think.

The thing was, Peter still had to keep a low profile. Using his abilities to stop thieves and help the little guy was important, more important than anything else he was able to do—but he still needed to protect his friends, family, and own self. So he grabbed the red hoody (after he washed the bloodstains of various, seedy New York criminals off of it) and a set of blue sweats he never wore before and got to work, grateful that May insisted he learn how to use a sewing machine. After a night of sketching, cutting, and sewing he had his suit. He sewed the top and bottom together, with a long zipper hidden on the back, running between his neck and tailbone. The hoody was stitched over the blue sweatshirt, creating a small pocket of space between the fabrics. Where red covered blue Peter made sure to add in some protection. Thin metal shin guards were sewn between the pantlegs and thick red socks at the bottom of his suit. Padding lined his chest and back. To protect his identity, he managed to make a mask out of the sleeves of his hoody, a pair of old swim goggles (with some minor modifications to allow for widening and narrowing of the lenses) and some mesh he cut up from an old shower caddy he never used (anything to cut down on the input was a win in Peter’s book). After including a pair of red water-socks to protect his feet, he added the finishing touch—a hand drawn spider on the front of the sweatshirt (Mr. Wesley was spot on when he called Peter “little spider”). Once his costume was finished, he started patrolling.

It was exhilarating. Flinging himself between buildings, stopping bad guys and saving people—it was so fantastic that it was almost unreal. If not for the wrenched shoulders and bruises giving him constant, physical reminders, he might not believe it was happening. As he popped up more and more, people began to trust him—to like him. They knew he was there for anything, big or small. Sure, he stopped a mugging that could have turned into a homicide, but he also helped a kid get her cat out of a tree (and really, the cat was more volatile than the mugger. At least the mugger could see reason).

Finding a balance between home and patrol was difficult. At first, he thought he was doing fine, not alerting May to anything, until one day he snuck back in after curfew and saw his aunt sitting alone, in the dark, staring at the muted television. Peter paused, taking in the sight.

_“Uh, hey May.” His greeting was met with silence. He was sure he was in deep trouble. “Okay, so I guess you’re mad at me,” he began, searching for an excuse. He was glad that this time he was only half an hour late._

_“I’m not mad at you,” May said quietly, not looking in his direction._

_“Oh, okay. Are you alright, then?”_

_May was silent for several heartbeats. “Do you like me, Peter?”_

_Peter blinked in confusion. “Of course I do, what kind of question is that?”_

_“I mean as a person. Not as your aunt, just as… as a person,” she said, finally turning to look at him. There were tear tracks down her face. Peter stumbled over to her, kneeling in front of her chair._

_“Yes, I do. Of course I do! May, why are you asking me that?”_

_“You’re never here,” she bit out as new tears formed in her eyes. “You always have things to do, other places you’d rather be. I never see you anymore.”_

_Peter put his hand on her knee, imploring her to look at her, catching her eye. “Yeah, but we’re both just busy. You have work, and I’ve got school and like, extracurriculars, I didn’t think that—”_

_“Let’s face it, Peter, we just kind of got thrown together.”_

_“What?”_

_“It’s okay to say it,” she sniffled, eyes wide and beseeching. “We’re… we’re the only ones left now, and this isn’t what either of us wanted, or envisioned. This isn’t the life we had planned out, and it’s not as if you chose me, or I chose you. It’s all happenstance, right?”_

_Peter felt his heart clench in his chest. May sounded like she didn’t care anymore, like she was ready to let go and give everything up, including Peter. “But… but I love you, May,” he said, tears forming in his own eyes. She blinked a little, as if coming back to herself, taking in the sight of her nephew, kneeling in front of her, scared and crying._

_“Oh, no, Peter, come here baby,” she said, opening her arms. Peter collapsed against her, holding her as tightly as he dared. “I’m sorry honey. I just miss him so much.”_

Ever since then, Peter was a lot more mindful about when he was out of the house. He made sure to be home well before curfew three times a week, trying to put in some quality time with his aunt. He only stayed out past curfew on the nights he was certain May had a late shift. After a couple of weeks their bond was stronger than ever.

Keeping up with schoolwork was difficult at first, too. Peter was smart. He got into Midtown on a scholarship that gave him a full ride, including the cost of books, fees and supplies. He only had to study the material once or twice (for science and math, a little more for history and social studies) to have it memorized. He flew through his assignments and did well in classes. Once he started wearing the suit though, he was falling behind on his homework, but he figured he could handle it. It wasn’t until his homeroom teacher, Mr. Harrington pulled him aside that he realized he was going to hit trouble, sooner rather than later.

_“Peter, I want you to know that I am very sorry for your loss,” the bespectacled teacher began, placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder._

_“Thanks, Mr. Harrington,” Peter said, somewhat bewildered at the sudden sympathy he was receiving._

_“I am here to support you in any way you need, but we need to talk,” he implored, guiding Peter to his office._

_“About what?” Peter asked, confused._

_“Your grades,” the man said, pulling the door open to his office and gesturing for Peter to go inside. Peter gaped at him before moving toward the cluttered desk, settling in a chair. Mr. Harrington slid around the desk and took his seat. He swiveled back and forth slightly, waiting for Peter to gather his thoughts._

_“I don’t understand,” Peter said slowly. “I’m doing well on all my tests, and my attendance has been fine since the f-funeral,” he said, rubbing his neck a little. Sure, he’d missed a couple of assignments, but he was still doing okay, wasn’t he?_

_“Yes, but Peter, you’ve missed several assignments in all of your subjects, and you’ve been falling asleep in class!” Mr. Harrington clasped his hands together under his chin, keeping a steady gaze on his pupil. “At this rate, your scholarship will be in jeopardy.”_

_“M-my scholarship? I’m gonna lose my scholarship?” Peter thought his heart stopped for a minute. If he lost his scholarship, he’d lose any chance of getting into MIT, or any of his other top choices for college. May didn’t have money to pay for school. He needed any edge he could get when it came time for his secondary education and being enrolled in this school was a huge one. “Mr. Harrington, what can I do? Is it too late to make up the assignments?”_

_“Calm down, Peter,” Mr. Harrington smiled. “As a matter of fact, it’s_ not _too late. I have a list from each of your teachers of all the assignments you missed with renewed due dates. They’re willing to work with you because they know you’re dealing with a very stressful situation at home, okay?”_

Peter got lucky (a rare thing, for a Parker), and he didn’t take it for granted again. He diligently completed his work before going on Patrol. Yes, Spider-Man was important, but Peter Parker was a little important, too. Besides, Peter’s future was Spider-Man’s future. He had to make sure he didn’t fall behind.

He also learned (the hard way) that he had a healing factor but said healing factor was not a replacement for a good first aid kit. Getting on the wrong side of a knife during a fight taught him that really well, and if May was concerned or confused about the sudden appearance of a well-stocked, heavy duty first aid kit under their bathroom sink, she was keeping quiet about it.

So yeah, after a month of being Spider-Man, he got his routine down. He reprioritized, and things were going well. He even started hanging out with Ned again, because building Lego sets and watching old nerdy movies with his best friend was nothing short of therapeutic. Everything was looking up.

One day as he walked away from school, a small black car pulled up next to him. He paused looking around himself before focusing on the tinted window that was lowering. He peered inside, blinking in surprise when he saw a familiar dark head and blue eyes hidden behind thick glasses.

“Hello, Mr. Parker. How are you doing today?”

“M-Mr. Wesley!” Peter breathed out, looking around again as he pulled his headphones out of his ears. “H-h-hi, sir,” he stuttered, stepping toward the door. “I’m uh—good. Real good, sir. Thanks for asking.” Mr. Wesley smiled that same small smile he had last time, and Peter grinned a little at seeing it.

“Are you busy?”

“Uh,” Peter was getting ready to make his rounds, almost at the alley where he changed into his suit. “Yeah,” Peter flushed suddenly at the bluntness of his answer. “Not that it isn’t great seeing you! Because it totally is. I just uh—I mean who knew I’d just run into you in Queens of all places. I mean, Delmar’s is right there,” Peter pointed to the sandwich shop. “Not that it’s _bad_ to run into you or anything, sir, it’s not but I’ve uh, I’ve got a thing? So….” Peter trailed off, twitching his head over his shoulder in the direction he was heading.

“I see,” Mr. Wesley said. “And would that thing have anything to do with the Spider Guy?”

Peter’s mouth dropped open. “Spider Guy?”

Mr. Wesley smirked. “From YouTube.” Peter shook his head a little and Mr. Wesley laughed—actually laughed—at him. “Come now, Mr. Parker. Surely you didn’t think I had forgotten you.” Peter flushed and dropped his head, scuffing his shoe along the ground. Truth be told, he _did_ think Mr. Wesley had forgotten him. He was a busy man, and despite what he saw Peter do, Peter hadn’t heard a word from him, and it had been a _month._ His business card lay untouched in a drawer in Peter’s desk, not because Peter didn’t want to call, but because he had so much to do, and really, Mr. Wesley was the kind of man who could have come to Peter easily, any time he wanted. Peter didn’t want to burden the man with his presence. Mr. Wesley’s smiled dropped, as he scanned Peter from head to toe. “Or perhaps you have?” Peter glanced up, taking in Mr. Wesley’s face. He looked like he was trying to solve some kind of puzzle. “Perhaps you thought after one ride home that I would have no reason to remember you, a boy who could track a criminal across a city on foot with nothing but a face to go on.”

Peter blushed and shrugged. “Sorry, sir. I just, uh, I’ve just been busy. I kind of figured you’ve been busy, too.”

Wesley nodded before opening the door. Peter stared at the interior of the car as Mr. Wesley slid over. “Please, get in Mr. Parker. I was hoping to speak with you.” Peter looked around, rubbing his arms through the thick fabric of his coat. “It’s freezing outside. I can take you home. Or wherever you need to go for your… _thing,_ I believe it was?” After a moment’s hesitation (that damn zinging was going up his back again, _how does every little thing set it off?_ ) Peter climbed down into the backseat and settled in next to Mr. Wesley. After the car got on the road, the partition slid shut between them and the driver.

“Do all your cars have a divider-thingy?” Peter asked, a little startled to see it in a BMW.

Mr. Wesley retrieved a bottle of water for Peter, who smiled and thanked him for it. “My employer values his privacy above all things. The partition is part of that.” Peter nodded. “I see you’ve been keeping busy,” Mr. Wesley said, folding his hands in his lap. Peter shrugged as he sipped his water. “I rather liked how you tripped that carjacker.” Peter cringed a little. He had only stopped one carjacker so far, and he took a pretty hard hit from the guy’s crowbar before he managed to take him down.

“I didn’t know it was online. I haven’t really been… paying much attention? I mean, I just started. I didn’t think people were gonna film it….” Although if Peter were the one to see some random guy in a sweat suit stopping criminals and climbing up walls, he probably would have been the first one to record it and post it to his Instagram. He looked out the window and noticed they were going towards the interstate. “Hey, Mr. Wesley, this uh, this isn’t the way to my apartment.”

Mr. Wesley tilted his head slightly and smiled, and Peter felt that familiar buzzing feeling at the back of his neck again. It was constantly humming, making his hair stand up and his muscles tense. Somewhere nearby a horn blared on the freeway, and Peter shrugged the feeling off. “Yes I know. I’ll be sure to get you home soon, but like I said, I wanted to speak with you. Furthermore, my employer wanted to speak with you.”

“Mr. Fisk?” Peter asked, alarmed and awed. Wilson Fisk had been on the news a lot lately, talking about all kinds of projects he was doing in the city to reduce poverty. Peter just saw a press conference on the news where Mr. Fisk talked about a rehabilitation program for kids who just got out of juvie, to help them “learn reasonable trades to better their situations and change their lives.” The information he had about how the circumstances of poverty can lead to higher incarceration rates and higher crime rates for communities was presented really well. When he talked about it with Michelle the next day, the only negative thing she had to say about it was that he didn’t include the fact that there was a disparity for people of color and how or if he planned to address it, but progress was progress so she was looking forward to what he would come up with.

Mr. Wesley only nodded in response.

“Whoa, really? Oh wow that’s so amazing. Mr. Fisk wants to meet _me?_ But why? I mean he’s _Mr. Fisk._ We’ve been talking about him in my Journalism class at school and he’s like, _really_ cool. The work he’s doing in Hell’s Kitchen is amazing. It would be great to have programs for younger people for some of the neighborhoods out here, you know? Or in Brooklyn? And the work he’s done renovating the housing in the poorer parts of the area is awesome. I can’t believe he started out like… well like me! Without the powers or anything. Just him and his mom, you know? He built his whole fortune from the ground up! It’s incredible!” Peter babbled, and as he chattered on Mr. Wesley’s appearance took on a warmer quality. His smile was gentler, and his posture became slightly more relaxed. The angry buzzing in Peter’s head receded to a quiet hum.

“Yes, he is a very remarkable man.”

“Exactly. So why does he want to meet _me?_ ”

Mr. Wesley chuckled. “You’re a remarkable man, too,” he said. Peter stared at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck. When he looked up again, that soft smile was still on Mr. Wesley’s face. “I’ve already told you that you’re impressive, Mr. Parker. The intelligence and abilities you have at your age?” Peter felt himself blush a little, still not used to this kind of praise. “My employer has every reason to want to meet you. So tell me, how are your classes coming along?”

Peter told Mr. Wesley how he was doing in all his classes, letting slip that he was worried about his term paper for Social Studies. Mr. Wesley gave him some really great ideas about the pros and cons to the Mutant Registration Act congress kept going back and forth on. When Peter shyly told him that he got a perfect score on his last Spanish quiz, he felt a flush of pride at the nod of approval he got in return. Again, Mr. Wesley took the time to go over the curriculum for Peter’s Spanish class (having his backpack with his homework helped tremendously). They went over the topic until the car finally parked. If Mr. Wesley could spare the time, Peter thought Spanish could be his top subject. He explained verb conjugation in a way Mr. Hernandez _couldn’t._ Peter hoped the Spanish II teacher could be half as good as Mr. Wesley. When he said as much, Mr. Wesley cleared his throat, a pleased smile appearing on his face. Mr. Wesley reached across Peter and pulled the door handle, giving it a small push. Peter pushed it the rest of the way open, then stepped out of the car, Mr. Wesley following behind him.

Peter looked up, expecting them to be at some swanky office, and was surprised to find they were standing in front of an old, worn down building. He glanced back at Mr. Wesley who merely shrugged before moving towards the door. Peter followed him inside, taking in the paint fumes and plastic tarps hanging around the space. They made their way into a kitchen area where another man was bent over some blueprints on the island. Mr. Wesley cleared his throat, and the man straightened to his full height, turning around to face them. This was Mr. Fisk, from the _news._ He gave a small smirk. “Hello, Wesley,” he said, softly.

Peter was struck by the contrast between the man’s voice and overall stature. He had never seen someone so… huge. Instead of his usual white suit, Mr. Fisk was wearing a casual black tee-shirt and dark, dusty blue jeans. He was barrel chested, and the top of his head gleamed under the bright shine of the overhead lights. His arms were thicker than Peter’s neck, and he towered over them, power radiating from his very core. This time when that extra sense kicked in, the zing went straight up his spine, sharper than ever before, and buzzed angrily in his ears. The ringing sensation was so sharp that Peter let out a quiet gasp, but despite how hard he tried to contain the sound, Mr. Fisk could hear it. He smiled gently, nodding his head a little toward Peter. “Is this him?”

_Who?_ Peter thought, eyes roving over the goliath in front of him. Mr. Wesley nudged him, and he turned sharply to the other man, who had a raised eyebrow. Did he say something? Was he asked a question? Should he answer? What could he say? Peter cleared his throat. “H-hello, sir. I’m Peter. Parker? Peter Parker,” he rambled, holding his hand out to Mr. Fisk. Mr. Fisk held out his own hand and shook Peter’s, nodding at the boy’s grip. Ben made sure to teach him the proper way to shake someone’s hand. Peter was almost surprised at the gentleness of Mr. Fisk’s hold. He was halfway certain his fingers were going to be crushed as he held out his hand, and was very glad to be wrong, for once.

“Hello, Mr. Parker. I’m told I probably don’t need to introduce myself, but regardless, it would be polite to say. I am Wilson Fisk,” he said in that same, quiet, raspy voice. Peter felt his knees wobble a little, and he chalked the buzzing in his ears to anxiety related to meeting a real-life business mogul who also happened to be a giant. He’d never, _ever_ been near someone so big, and the closest he ever came to someone so famous before was when Iron Man saved his life when he was _ten._ “I’ve heard some very interesting things about you.” Peter shook his head bashfully before staring at the floor. As his nerves calmed, the buzzing receded. His body seemed to realize that he wasn’t going to be harmed.

“Oh, wow sir. That’s, so amazing to hear from someone like you,” he said, flushing a little. Mr. Fisk made a little sound in his throat, and when Peter glanced up, he saw a wrinkle of confusion on the man’s brow. “I mean, you’ve done _so_ much for the city, it’s really something,” Peter said, rambling on about all the good things he heard about him, including what they discussed in his classes.

“I didn’t realize my work was classroom material,” the man chuckled, and Peter felt himself getting even redder. “Well, Mr. Parker. Wesley seems to hold you in very high regard, and he is rarely wrong about these things,” Mr. Wesley smiled again, but did not deny or affirm what was said. He stood with an aura of casual confidence. He held an air about him that seemed to show that he knew what he could do, and that he knew he did it well. Peter only ever felt that way as Spider-Man, and even then, it was an irregular occurrence. “I have to say, though, I am surprised at how young you are,” Peter rubbed the back of his neck again, unable to control the nervous habit. “Don’t get me wrong, I was told your age, but hearing it and seeing it, especially when coupled with the other things I know—it’s just a bit startling.”

Spider-Man. Mr. Fisk was talking about Spider-Man. Peter wondered what on Earth Spider-Man could possibly do for Mr. Fisk. The guy didn’t look like he needed any kind of protection—his size was intimidating to say the least, but there was also an undercurrent of danger lurking beneath his stoic expression. He reminded Peter of a crocodile—how they sat and waited, perfectly still and unseen despite their size, before they suddenly attacked their prey. If someone that intimidating needed protection….

Peter barely managed to restrain himself from shivering. “Mr. Fisk, sir, I don’t really understand why I’m here,” he said, quietly.

The man looked over Peter’s shoulder. Peter followed his gaze to Mr. Wesley, standing behind him with, hands folded together behind his back. Peter saw him raise an eyebrow, and when he turned back to Mr. Fisk, he caught the tail end of a nod.

“Mr. Parker,” Mr. Wesley said as he stepped up beside Peter, dropping his hands to his sides. Peter turned his head to Mr. Wesley. He reached up to adjust his glasses, smirking again. “After I met you the first time, I was intrigued,” he said, staring straight at Peter. Peter swallowed and held his gaze. “The tracking skills alone were fascinating, but the sheer tenacity you had… it was incredible.” Mr. Wesley’s smile became more genuine. “But then when I actually spoke to you, got to know you, I saw so much more—a quick intellect, a desire to learn—I was enlightened.” Peter felt his ears burning and he just knew his blush was probably all the way up to his forehead. Mr. Wesley had such a way with words, they just seemed to swallow Peter up in an alarming but pleasant way. He resisted the urge to break eye contact.

“I ran a full background check on you. To see you managed to survive so much hardship, it made me realize you had some serious potential, if someone could just help you cultivate your skills. I wondered if maybe Mr. Fisk knew of a program you could sign up for, and when I began to describe you—”

“I found you interesting,” Mr. Fisk interjected. Peter dropped his jaw. “Don’t look so surprised, Mr. Parker. A sharp, young man with humble beginnings, living in a low-end apartment in Queens? It’s not so different from my own beginnings,” he chuckled, his laughter danced through the air like smoke. 

“Then, all of a sudden, this Spider-Guy was flinging himself around Queens,” Mr. Wesley continued, shaking his head a little as he smiled, “and I knew it was you, Mr. Parker. I knew from the webbing, and the top half of your suit. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was some way we could foster your talents, and help you become the best you could be.” Peter felt his chest swell a little, pride peeking through.

“So, I thought we might be able to create an internship for you,” Mr. Fisk said. “We were even looking into the possibility of it being paid, considering your financial situation.” Peter looked between the two men, stunned.

“An internship?” Peter could see it, too. He could absolutely see himself doing all that humanitarian stuff that Michelle would go on about. It was a whole new way to help the little guy, where he didn’t have to hide behind a mask. Doing that and getting a paycheck for it? Peter felt like it was dreamlike.

Mr. Fisk sighed. Apparently, he thought it was a little unrealistic, too. “The problem is, most of what I do is on the ground—working with those young men, reconstructing buildings—it’s very hands on, and this would be a very expensive program to add on so suddenly. I have to be completely justified after committing to it, and I don’t know you well enough to risk that kind of money on you. As smart as you are, I’m not sure that you’re capable.” Peter blinked, suddenly stung. He wasn’t sure why but hearing Mr. Fisk think he couldn’t do something—it rattled him, especially after having that treat of an internship dangled in front of his nose. How many people did he know who could put _Internship with Wilson Fisk_ on their college applications?

“I can learn really quickly, and I’m good with computers.” Mr. Fisk shrugged and tilted his chin towards Wesley. He already had someone who could handle that. Peter thought about it for a moment, cataloguing everything Mr. Fisk just said. An idea dawned on him. “I can build things,” he said, face set. Mr. Fisk raised an eyebrow. “Seriously,” Peter said, straightening up at slight disbelief he saw there. “I made those web-shooters that you guys saw me swinging around on. My Uncle was a contractor and he taught me some things. I could do the hands-on stuff.” Mr. Fisk glanced at Mr. Wesley, who now gazed at Peter. “Come on, Mr. Fisk, can you give me a chance?”

The older men stared at each other again, having a silent conversation. Peter took a slow breath through his nose, calming down a little. Mr. Fisk gestured towards a hammer. “Alright, Mr. Parker. Show me what you can do.”

Peter did. Mr. Fisk showed him the drafts and blueprints, and explained what he was working on, then put Peter to work. He observed stoically, only speaking to offer correction when needed, otherwise silent while he watched Peter hammer, saw, and sand through the project. Peter lost himself in the work, feeling the same tranquility he felt whenever he was making something. It took him back to the days that Ben would take him to work, and just let him loose on a whatever needed to get done—building a shed, putting up a gazebo, fixing cabinets—and Peter relished in peaceful feeling that came over him.

He was half-way through repairing the kitchen island that Mr. Fisk set him to before he felt a hand on his shoulder. The sixth sense flared to life and he jumped, dropping his hammer and whirling around. Mr. Fisk held his hands up in a placating gesture, and Peter relaxed a little, the angry buzz somewhat receding. His body must have forgotten that others were in the room with him. He stepped aside and let Mr. Fisk look at what he accomplished.

“Not bad,” Mr. Fisk nodded, a small smile gracing his features. Peter felt a flush of pride at the words. “Not bad at all,” he glanced over at Mr. Wesley who smiled and nodded in return. “Perhaps I misjudged you, Mr. Parker. I think I can find a place for you, if you’re willing. I know you go to a rather prestigious school, and you have your,” Mr. Fisk cleared his throat, “ _extracurricular activities,_ but I think I can help you go far, if you decide to work for me.”

The three of them spent the next hour going over some details of Peter’s internship. Peter came to find out that Mr. Fisk had no intention of having him work on the remodeling. Peter was too young, didn’t have any licenses, and was technically a liability, despite his good work. The whole thing had been some kind of weird test to see if he was willing to do hard work, or something. Peter was a little bothered they tricked him like that but decided that it wasn’t worth being upset over. After discussing the specifics of his internship, the only thing Peter worried about was finding the time to continue as Spider-Man, but before he could voice his concern, Mr. Fisk beat him to it.

“Spider Guy is something else. You catch criminals?”

“Spider-Man,” Peter corrected, finally. Mr.Fisk raised an eyebrow. Peter blushed. “Yes, sir. I patrol after school, usually, or on weekends.”

Mr. Fisk hummed, flipping through a contract Mr. Wesley had printed. It looked like Mr. Fisk was spending a lot of time here, considering he had a computer and printer set up for office work as needed. “I don’t want to deprive the city of his help. How about we cut back the days? It can range between one and three a week for your duties here. You’ll one or two days with Wesley, learning how the business is run—you know, accounting, paperwork, project management, that sort of thing—and you’ll spend one day a week doing research with Dr. Ohnn. His focus is in biology, but he does some work with engineering. Mr. Davis is one of my young men who joined us in a rehabilitation program, and he does a lot of our engineering projects. When Dr. Ohnn or Wesley are unavailable, you will work with him. This should allow you time to still do your schoolwork, and to continue as Spider-Man.”

“Wow, Mr. Fisk this is amazing! Thank you so much!” Peter was absolutely giddy, reaching out to grab the contract when Mr. Fisk pulled it back fractionally—just out of Peter’s reach.

“I wonder—” he began, but shook his head, handing Peter the paperwork. Peter looked at the thick packet in his hand to bring to May to review, then back up to Mr. Fisk’s thoughtful face.

“What?”

Mr. Fisk shook his head again. “No, never mind, Mr. Parker, it’s nothing you can assist me with, anyway.”

Peter bit his lip, curious as to what Mr. Fisk wanted to ask him. Really, the man was going out on a limb, making so many resources available to help Peter. “Are you sure? I mean, maybe I can help.”

“Well, perhaps,” Mr. Fisk sighed, stroking his chin. “We just—we have some difficult criminals in Hell’s Kitchen. Have you heard of the Devil?” Peter shook his head. “Well, people are of two minds about him. A man in a black mask goes around Hell’s Kitchen, hiding in the shadows and only attacking at night. He only targets criminals, but—” Mr. Fisk turned away, stepping toward Mr. Wesley, who merely turned his head down in acknowledgement. “I haven’t been able to influence everyone with my efforts. Despite all that my program had done before it became public, there are a few men who turned back to crime after all was said and done. It really is a shame, to see all my hard work go to pieces, but I also worry about them. The Devil doesn’t hold back. If I could just speak to them, before the Devil gets a chance to hurt them, maybe I could get them to change their ways, and if not, they’re much safer in lockup then out on the streets. The problem is, they disappear so quickly I don’t even have a chance to warn them,” Mr. Fisk looked at Peter, seriousness etched all over his face.

Peter didn’t know there was another vigilante running around New York, but he didn’t sound like a good guy. Peter tied crooks up and left them for the police to deal with. This Devil sounded like he just took matters into his own hands. Peter frowned. No one could be judge, jury and executioner. Just because he had the ability to mete out punishment didn’t mean he should. He thought the same went for everyone else. There was a reason the criminal justice system existed, and it was meant to be fair. Toeing the line to catch bad guys and protect people, that was one thing. Working around the system altogether to dish out some kind of personal justice? That was going too far.

“Well, Mr. Fisk I’m actually pretty good at tracking people down,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I could try to find people for you, occasionally, if you think that would help them?”

Mr. Fisk stared at him a moment in thought before a small smile formed on his face. Peter returned it tentatively. “Mr. Parker, I really hadn’t wanted to ask that of you, but I’m in such a tight spot, I can’t say no to your offer,” Mr. Fisk placed a gentle hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Perhaps I can compensate you for your efforts.”

“Ah, geez, Mr. Fisk you’re already getting me new clothes and a stipend—” Mr. Wesley pointed out that it would likely be more beneficial for the financial component of his internship would be better spent on obtaining Peter a suitable wardrobe for press events, and the stipend would go directly to Peter to help with any expenses or savings he was planning for.

“I like to treat my employees well, Mr. Parker, especially when they go above and beyond for me,” Mr. Fisk said, firmly. Peter shivered a little at the tone, suddenly nervous. He stood his ground.

“Sir,” he began, gulping a little, “I really do appreciate it, but you’re already doing so much for me—I’d feel bad.”

Mr. Fisk started at him a minute longer, then shook his head, smile appearing once again. “You are something else, Mr. Parker,” he said, glancing at his watch. His eyebrows rose, slightly. “Is that the time?” Peter pulled his phone out of his pocket and felt his mouth fall open when he saw it was already after six. May was going to kill him!

“Oh, crap, Mr. Fisk, I gotta go!” he exclaimed, tucking the paperwork into his backpack hastily.

“Of course. Wesley, get the boy home, and have him call his aunt so she doesn’t worry,” he said, brushing down his clothes. “It was good to meet you, Mr. Parker. I look forward to seeing what you accomplish with us.” Mr. Fisk held out his hand for Peter to shake, and Peter took it gratefully, grinning outright. Despite the headache he felt coming on (from stress, lack of sleep, and every zap of his sixth sense), Peter had a good feeling about what was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If only you knew, Peter. If only you knew.
> 
> Phew! What a chapter.
> 
> That scene with May? No lie, paraphrased/borrowed/taken from the Ultimate Spider-Man comics. I _love_ that scene so much because it adds a lot more depth to her character. Losing your husband? The husband you've been with at least 15 years, probably longer? That would _affect_ you. It's hard to bounce back from that kind of grief, and that scene made May so much more human. She became more real to me in that moment then any other in the Spider-Man universe, so I wanted to include it.
> 
> As for school, my take on things is that before Tony showed up and Peter got dazzled by a multi-million dollar suit and a random trip to Germany with his idol with a hidden promise of being an Avenger in the future, he was a diligent student in MCU. I say this because he doesn't want to go to Berlin, and his excuse is homework, which makes sense considering the kind of school he goes to, and then in Homecoming they reference it again in his video diary (the extended version). It makes me think that this version of Peter Parker is a bit more serious and level-headed, and he hasn't really gotten truly angry at the world around him yet (Peter's a mad dude, guys. He's a little shit and he's allowed to be because _damn,_ Marvel, what the heck?), so he's still trying to think of the future he can have. Just a personal headcannon that will be a factor in this fic. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. My goal is to post Sunday or Monday each week, but I make no promises. Life can get a little crazy, sometimes. 
> 
> Please leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed!
> 
> Also, I have a tumblr. Follow me if you want to talk about my stories or even make requests (Again, no promises, but they are fun for me) [@hanuko.](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter starts his internship for Mr. Fisk, and he gets to experience several of the perks firsthand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. Am. So. _Sorry_ about the delay. This chapter was a beast. There was a lot of unnecessary content that had to be wheedled out. 
> 
> We are setting up the story right now, y'all. The pace will start to pick up next chapter (I'm hoping). 
> 
> You may also note that the chapter count and tags have changed. 
> 
> I apologize for the bad science. I do not apologize for the nerdy references. 
> 
> Enjoy!

When Peter arrived home with Mr. Wesley in tow, May looked like she was going to have a heart attack, and Peter wasn’t surprised in the least. Even before Ben passed, May was always a little over-protective, but she became especially so ever since Peter decided to face a lone Hammer Drone by himself with nothing but an Iron Man mask at the tender age of _ten._ Peter showing up back home with an adult she had never seen nor heard of before? She would never let him out of the house again if she thought he got himself caught up in something as dangerous as a potential kidnapping.

Peter explained his worries to Mr. Wesley on the drive back to his apartment, and the man had nodded thoughtfully, considering Peter’s predicament.

_“Well, Mr. Parker, as much as I hate to say it, perhaps we will need to lie.”_

_Peter frowned and his stomach twisted. He hated lying to May._

_Mr. Wesley seemed to notice his hesitation and offered him a gentle smile. “We don’t have to. You can tell her how we really met, and about Spider-Man.” Peter shook his head. He couldn’t tell her. She wouldn’t let him do it anymore! She’d freak out. “Alright then, how about something easy?” Mr. Wesley folded his hands in his lap. “We’ll tell her that you emailed Mr. Fisk about his programs, and you wondered about his plans for the other boroughs. What you said earlier was quite thoughtful,” he allowed, smiling again as Peter blushed a little more. “You really should have more faith in yourself. You have good ideas.”_

Peter stood back and allowed Mr. Wesley to introduce himself and talk to May as he got the contract out of his backpack. Peter was so bad at lying. When he said so, Mr. Wesley just asked that Peter leave it to him, so he did. Mr. Wesley was _smooth,_ too. He introduced himself, was so happy he finally got to meet May, was very impressed by her nephew’s hard work and so on. Mr. Wesley was so blown away by the email Peter sent (brought to his attention by one of their people in communications) that he _had_ to share it with Mr. Fisk. May melted when she heard that, a glint of pride in her eyes. Then Mr. Wesley went on to say that Mr. Fisk was _just_ considering opening up an internship for low income high school students as part of his plan to help address poverty in the city. Mr. Wesley explained that these programs were very much a “pay-it-forward,” kind of thing, and that Mr. Wesley thought Peter would be the ideal candidate, considering his grades, school, and ideas. Once the contract appeared and May thoroughly read it (because she was not going to trap her kid in some weird business scam. Mr. Fisk didn’t seem like the type, but you never knew) she gave it back to Mr. Wesley, signed to make the internship official.

Peter could not believe how well that went. After Mr. Wesley left, May badgered him, asking why he didn’t want to tell her he was reaching out to Mr. Fisk directly. He had to know she was proud of him, right? And that she would support him in anything he tried to do? Peter felt a twist in his stomach at her words and apologized, saying he didn’t even know there was an internship available—that things just snowballed from his first email. To celebrate, May took Peter out for Indian food, because it wasn’t every day that a Parker hit that kind of luck. Peter nodded along at the conversation as he munched on his Butter Chicken.

A few days had gone by and Peter’s routine returned to normal (his internship wouldn’t start until the following month. The first of the month was best for finances, Mr. Fisk said). He went to school, did his homework, and caught bad guys in the afternoon. It was almost like he never even went to Hell’s Kitchen. Things did change a little after he told Ned about his internship, though. His best friend was a lot of things—loyal, funny, intelligent—but he could not keep a secret to save his life. Peter felt like this would be a way to test the waters for his _other_ afterschool activity, but Ned told everyone before the day was out with a loud announcement in their chemistry class. Peter could shake his round-faced friend. It looked like Spider-Man would be kept under wraps for the foreseeable future.

Flash was an ass about it, as usual. He approached Peter at the end of the day, while Peter was gathering his things from his locker.

“Hey, Penis,” Flash snickered, giving a high five to one of the jocks he always hung around. Peter rolled his eyes. Flash wasn’t that special. He was smart, but not the smartest. He was good at sports, but not the best. He looked good, but he wasn’t the most attractive guy there. People seemed to flock to him, though. Peter tried not to be bitter about it. He was taught by his uncle that you shouldn’t make judgements or say cruel things about people, but Peter found himself thinking—not for the first time—that the only reason Flash was so popular was because he had money. Peter, on the other hand, was probably one of the poorest people to attend Midtown, and he was treated like it. It wasn’t like May and Ben had nothing. Before his uncle died, they did alright. All the bills were paid, they had everything they needed, and Peter was happy, but they never had the money for a new laptop or the latest game system. Those things weren’t important, though, and when he was in public school, there were other kids there like him who also couldn’t afford it. Now that Ben was gone things were tighter than ever. It was embarrassing to shop at Goodwill because you had to. If he heard that Thrift Shop song one more time, he might scream in frustration.

Peter shut his locker and turned away from the bully, intent on just leaving the school and ignoring him entirely. Flash matched his pace and Peter sighed. “Penis, I’m talking to you.”

“You could actually use my name,” he muttered, adjusting his backpack.

Flash scoffed, “Whatever. Word is, you’ve got some fancy internship with Wilson Fisk.” Peter shrugged noncommittally. “Yeah, I thought it was bull.”

Peter tensed. Flash always got under his skin. “It’s real, Flash. It starts next month.”

“Yeah right, Parker. Wilson Fisk, who has only ever done outreach in Hell’s Kitchen, suddenly offered _you_ an internship? God, you’re more pathetic than I thought,” Flash laughed as they reached the entrance, shoving Peter with his shoulder as he darted out the door. Peter grumbled and rubbed his shoulder, trying not to let Flash get to him. He knew Flash was jealous because Peter did better than him in classes. Peter just had to ignore the guy. Sure, it would be an annoyance for the next three and a half years, but what were the odds they’d both go to the same college? Although, Peter had heard that Flash’s parents were already attending preparatory meetings and dinners at MIT for him.

Peter heard ESU was pretty good. They had better biology and chemistry programs, anyway.

That day after school, several packages arrived at his door—mostly paper-wrapped parcels with a couple of boxes amongst them. Most were addressed to Peter, but some were addressed to May, too. The two opened them together, and May was absolutely floored by what she saw when Peter unwrapped what was essentially a new wardrobe. She gaped at his new clothing, pointing out labels like Earnest Sewn, Gucci, and 7 For All Mankind. Even Peter—whose extent of clothing knowledge was where sold the best and cheapest nerdy tee-shirts—knew that this was high-end. He got the feeling the new shirts and jeans and shoes were easily more than their rent. Probably by a couple months. The couple of packages for May were also brand name clothing—just some blouses and jeans—as a thank you for allowing Peter to participate in the internship program, according to the note that came with. There were four garment bags—two for Peter, and two for May.

Peter opened his bags to reveal two _absolutely amazing_ suits. Like, Tony Stark level suits. The tags said Armani. One was black and the other was navy blue, and Peter suddenly realized the silk button-ups (as opposed to the plain, cotton ones) he unpacked earlier were meant to be paired with these. The fabric was softer than anything he had ever felt before. May opened her bags to reveal two stunning dresses. One was a deep red, strapless, knee-length dress with ruching at the hips. The other an elegant, white, full-length strapless dress with subtle silver designs that shimmered in the light. May was beside herself as she examined the garments.

“Peter,” she said, stunned, “this is too much. This is all too much!” Peter shook his head wordlessly, glancing at the two boxes that came with the clothes. “Why do you need designer clothing? Why do _I_ need evening gowns? What kind of internship is this?” May wrung her hands together, pacing back and forth before Peter, who sat on the couch, still gaping at the Armani suit in his hands.

“Well,” Peter began, hesitantly, “I need clothes for work. When I go into the office I need to be dressed appropriately, and I don’t really have anything other than a couple of button-ups and the one pair of slacks, and Mr. Fisk said it wouldn’t be fair to make us go get more fitting clothes for me. He said as part of the terms of the contract he would make sure to get me some suitable things.” Then again, Peter kind of thought Mr. Fisk meant clothes from Target not—wherever he got this stuff. “And there are press events, you know? That both of us would attend? And they’re really fancy, so….” Peter trailed off, a little helplessly as he pulled the first box towards him. It was fairly light, and when he opened it, he discovered a brand new JanSport backpack (finally, something Peter recognized, a plain, black, somewhat trendy bag) and a leather messenger bag from Dolce & Gabbana. Putting these aside, he opened the final box and nearly dropped it in shock when he saw the contents.

The box contained a brand new, state of the art Microsoft tablet and laptop that Peter actually knew the value of—tech geek that he was. He was holding at least 4000 dollars’ worth of equipment in his trembling hands. He wouldn’t have to bring that duct-taped monstrosity he used before to school. He could get rid of his home rigged retro-tech for good. He may never have to dive into a dumpster for an old, used computer again. This was _not_ part of the contract.

He couldn’t accept this.

He told Mr. Wesley as much when he called him that night. He put the man on speaker so both he and May could voice their concerns, which Mr. Wesley heard and said he would take care of.

Apparently, that meant sending Mr. Fisk to their apartment directly.

May squeaked in alarm when the philanthropist showed up at her door, unannounced. She smoothed her hair as she led him inside to a seat at their dinner table, then offered to make him some tea which he courteously accepted. Peter sat with him at the table as May bustled in the kitchen, quietly answering questions about school. He was glad he was starting to get over how intimidating the man was—his spider-sense was only quietly buzzing at his presence now. May served Mr. Fisk with trembling hands and sat down herself, brushing imaginary dust from the table in front of her seat.

“Mrs. Parker, I understand you have some concerns with the items I had delivered the other day,” Mr. Fisk said, quietly.

May took a deep breath before beginning to speak. “It’s not that we aren’t grateful, Mr. Fisk,” she began, hesitantly, “but it’s too much. I don’t think you understand—all of that is too, uh, it’s too—”

“I do understand, Mrs. Parker,” Mr. Fisk interjected gently. May pressed her mouth closed and looked worriedly over at Peter, who was drumming his fingers nervously against his knee. “My own mother would have reacted the same way if this had happened to me when I was young,” he offered with a small smile. “Perhaps I was a little overzealous when I made these purchases.”

“Oh, no, Mr. Fisk! I mean, maybe a _little—_ but it’s not that we don’t appreciate it—”

“May I explain my reasoning?” he asked. May and Peter both nodded. Mr. Fisk sighed. “Mr. Parker—he reminds me of myself at that age. My Father disappeared one day, leaving me and my Mother alone to fend for ourselves, and my Mother was very sickly and frail. I had to continue my education, because I knew if I didn’t I couldn’t better our situation in the future, and we both had to work to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. I was fortunate to do as well as I did in college and to invest where and when I did to get where I am now,” Mr. Fisk adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, almost nervously. Peter never knew the man to speak of his past so candidly before. “Of course, I can attribute that hard work to who I am today, but I still remember the stress of it. This is a tender time in Mr. Parker’s life, and the one thing I wish I could have had was someone to help us,” Mr. Fisk shook his head, staring into his tea. He looked into Peter’s eyes as he spoke his next words. “I was so angry. So very angry,” Peter blinked, startled by the sting of tears in the corner of his eyes. He suddenly felt a connection to the philanthropist that he hadn’t expected.

Peter knew that there was a dark, hot _thing_ in his chest, eating away at him, trying to claw its way out, but he hadn’t realized that it was _rage_ he was feeling—an anger that was always present. Peter felt it whenever the other kids looked down at him for his secondhand clothes, or when Mr. Delmar gave him pitying looks and a discount on his stupid gummy worms. He even felt it when he went to Ned’s and saw how _normal_ his best friend’s life was. Ever since Ben died, he was nothing _but_ angry, and he had to bury it in order to make it through the day.

Mr. Fisk turned back to May. “I made awful, awful choices back then, and many of them were out of spite of my own situation. I could never wish that on anyone. When I saw the opportunity to spoil you both, I couldn’t help myself. Please, I beg that you allow me this one concession. It’s not as though these items will not be needed for his internship—it really does equate to a business expense for me.” He stared at May, almost beseechingly, and the woman glanced at her nephew, reading his face before slowly nodding.

“It’s just so expensive,” she began. “We could never pay you back.”

Mr. Fisk smiled again, a twinkle appearing in his dark eyes. “You won’t have to, Mrs. Parker. This is a gift—one that I give willingly and with no expectations in return—with the exception that Peter work hard while he is with me and my people.”

“I will, Mr. Fisk, absolutely,” Peter said, finally regaining some composure. It was the first time he ever heard Mr. Fisk say his first name. The man turned to him with that same, gentle smile.

“Of that I have no doubt, Mr. Parker,” he said kindly. They sat and spoke over tea together, sharing stories until Mr. Fisk’s cup was empty. The Parkers led the man out, both feeling as though a whirlwind just flew through their apartment that somehow left them in one piece.

After that, things seemed to go very well for Peter and his aunt. The claim for Ben’s life insurance finally went through. May had been arguing with the agency for months trying to get everything in order. She could finally pay off the debts to the funeral home, and it eased the burden on her for rent. Not only that, but his pension was finally coming in. The last time May spoke to the head of Ben’s union, she heard it would take two more months due to some stupid piece of paperwork that was missing. Apparently, whatever crucial information that was needed to process the documents was found and their case got bumped to the top of the list. May was incredibly relieved, and it showed on her face. She ordered Thai and they spent the evening watching crummy horror movies and giggling over the terrible effects.

Peter was so at ease now that things were settling down at home, that when the first came along, he only felt a tiny bit of nervous butterflies in his stomach. He was more excited than nervous to start his internship. Instead of his backpack he brought his new messenger bag to school, which got him a lot of unexpected positive attention. After school he changed into some of his new clothes—a pair of khaki slacks from True Religion and a whitish Hermes shirt with a grid pattern—then went to the front of the school to see Mr. Wesley waiting for him in front of another black car—a Mercedes, this time. Mr. Wesley opened the door for him, and he spotted Flash just before he climbed in, staring at Peter with a mixture of wonder and disbelief. He smirked and gave a little wave, causing the bully to scowl at him. Peter was sure he was going to get a lot of grief tomorrow, but right now he felt like it was absolutely worth it to see that look on Flash’s face.

After they started driving towards Manhattan, Mr. Wesley handed him a bottle of water before telling him about the itinerary for the day. “Today you’ll be meeting Dr. Ohnn. He’ll go over some of the duties you’ll have while you work with him, as well as what you are going to learn from him. On Wednesday you’ll do the same with Mr. Davis, and on Thursday you’ll be with me.”

“Okay, Mr. Wesley, but, um, are you always going to pick me up? I know you’re really busy,” Peter asked, nervously. Even though he had met Mr. Wesley a handful of times, he still felt a little anxious around him.

“No, I won’t. You’re right when you say I’m busy. That reminds me, actually,” Wesley knocked on the partition, which slid open. Peter could see the driver’s hazel eyes underneath heavy, blonde eyebrows staring back at them through the rearview mirror. Peter was pretty sure this was the same driver from the night Peter met Mr. Wesley.

“Yes, sir?”

“Francis, I want Peter to meet Frederick tonight. He’ll be the one picking up Peter at school and taking him home from now on,” Mr. Wesley said, curtly. Francis nodded and closed the partition again at Mr. Wesley’s request. Peter was a little surprised. He didn’t realize he would have his own chauffer for these things.

“Dr. Ohnn doesn’t know you’re Spider-Man, and we intend to keep it that way,” Mr. Wesley said, picking up a tablet and scrolling through it. “While you’re with him, he’ll be teaching you about biophysics. Currently he is developing experiments to create medical advancements, primarily with radiation. You can learn a lot from him.”

Peter processed the information and found himself a little lost. “Mr. Wesley?” Mr. Wesley nodded for him to continue. “I just—uh—why does Mr. Fisk need someone working on medical advancements?” Mr. Wesley smiled at the question.

“In short, he doesn’t,” he said, tapping a few icons on the tablet. He set the device down and looked up at Peter. Peter’s brows drew together in confusion. “However, the methods that are being developed by Dr. Ohnn are cutting edge, and the good he can do for the community is outstanding. Mr. Fisk is helping to fund Dr. Ohnn’s research in order to keep the information out of the wrong hands. I believe he may have mentioned how his mother was ill while he was a child?” Peter shrugged a little. “When he was young, they couldn’t afford medicine for her, and social services were not kind in those days. Medicine was hard to come by. Mr. Fisk believes the drug companies who patent these medicines do not do it with the best interests of the people at heart, and so in turn, he is working to patent some drugs and procedures himself so they can be more easily obtained by people.”

That didn’t sound right to Peter. “But I thought you couldn’t patent a medical procedure. I mean, I know drugs can be patented,” Mr. Wesley raised an eyebrow at Peter, and Peter felt himself flushing under the scrutiny. “I mean, if he’s focusing on developing treatments instead of medicines….” Peter trailed off, lost for words.

Mr. Wesley appeared to consider his words before responding. “It is… difficult… to patent a medical procedure, but not impossible. However, Dr. Ohnn is developing technology that can utilize radiation to enhance cells, and medical devices are often patented. Mr. Fisk doesn’t want this technology inaccessible, and his goals are similar to Dr. Ohnn, so he offered the man a position.”

“Oh,” Peter said, shifting in his seat a little. He hadn’t realized how many areas Mr. Fisk was involved with. Soon the car pulled to a stop and Mr. Wesley led Peter out of the vehicle, and Peter gaped at the building in front of them.

It was a skyscraper, several stories tall and silver-grey in color, covered in windows from the ground up. Peter could hardly believe his eyes. Mr. Wesley led him inside to a receptionist, and had a badge made up to allow him clearance to all his necessary floors, including Mr. Fisk’s own (though not his office—only Mr. Fisk and Mr. Wesley had access to that). Once these necessities were taken care of, Mr. Wesley took Peter to an elevator. The elevator moved upward for almost a minute before stopping. The doors opened to reveal a state-of-the-art lab with equipment Peter had never seen in his life. Before he had time to examine the machinery, Mr. Wesley brought him to some lab tables where a man was hunched over a microscope. Mr. Wesley cleared his throat, and the man straightened up and turned around, his mouth twisted in an impatient scowl.

Peter’s eyes took in the sight of the scientist. The man was tall, possibly taller than Mr. Wesley. His dirty blonde hair was unkempt and flopped around his pale face. He wore thick glasses and he had a long, white lab coat that covered his crisp white shirt. Around his neck he wore a plain, black tie that matched his black slacks almost exactly, and nice black dress shoes. Peter gulped, somewhat intimidated by the expression on the man’s face. Mr. Wesley nudged him forward, and he hesitantly stepped toward the man, holding out his hand. “Hello, sir, I’m Peter Parker.”

The man let his eye move from the top of Peter’s head down to the toes of his shoes before grasping Peter’s hand in a cordial handshake. “Hello, Peter. I’m Dr. Ohnn,” the man introduced himself. “I understand you are to be interning with me once a week?”

“Yes, sir. I look forward to learning from you. I’m afraid I don’t know much about biophysics—I’ve always been more interested in chemical engineering, but I understand you’re developing some interesting tech for medical advancements?”

Dr. Ohnn smiled. “Oh, I was worried about you,” he said with a chuckle. Suddenly his whole demeanor shifted, and he appeared much more relaxed. “When they told me I would have a high school kid as an intern, I just about lost my mind. I’m glad to see you’re not an idiot,” he laughed. Peter smiled, nervously glancing back toward Mr. Wesley. The man adjusted his glasses, then cleared his throat.

“I’ll let you two get started,” he said before he left the room. Peter smiled hesitantly at Dr. Ohnn. The bespectacled man clasped a friendly hand on his shoulder and guided him to the table he was working at. Peter stared at the graphs and notes spread out before him, somewhat dazzled by the detail of the work.

“Oh, wow, Dr. Ohnn, are these are really in depth!” Peter exclaimed as he picked up a loose sheet and examined the contents. “The detail about the effect of the radiation used is crazy. I’m confused though. Mr. Wesley said you’re working on medical technology, but this seems to be primarily focused on the negative and positive effects of radiation treatment, and that’s been around for a long time.”

“Well, Peter—can I call you Peter?” Peter nodded at the man’s question, a little relieved that someone wanted to use his given name. “Peter, I am working on a device that can distribute radiation in a safer, more measured way.” The man opened a drawer and pulled out some blueprints for a machine that appeared to be comprised of a generator and a sealable chamber. “I’ll confess something though,” he said conspiratorially, “I’m not only seeking to change how we use radiation treatment.”

Peter’s eyebrows shot up. “What else are you trying to do?”

“Well,” he began, smirking slightly, “between you and me, I’m trying to see if I can use this technology to develop transportation abilities.” Peter stared at him in disbelief. “I believe that if an organism is exposed to the right wavelength of beta radiation, it can move itself from one point to another instantaneously.” Dr. Ohnn gestured towards the microscope he was using earlier. Peter wandered in the direction Dr. Ohnn pointed and stared at a radiated cell sample underneath the microscope. As expected, the cells had deteriorated to a point where they were nearly unrecognizable.  
  
"That's the control sample. When radiation therapy is used, that is what happens to all the cells that can easily replenish themselves," Peter nodded in acknowledgment, and looked away from the sample, seeing Dr. Ohnn was now by his elbow. "What I intend to do is develop something where the cells don't deteriorate, but shift. When the molecular breakdown reaches the subatomic level, in theory an organism will not cease to exist, but stay in motion, allowing it to move great distances in a short period of time."  
  
"Like the transport beam in Star Trek?"  
  
Dr. Ohnn laughed at Peter's enthusiasm. "More like how the dragons go 'between' in Dragon Riders of Pern." Peter stared at the blonde man in confusion, and the man shook his head. "Don't you read?"  
  
"Uh," Peter stuttered, feeling a blush overtake his face. "I've read Dr. Banner's publications on gamma radiation...."  
  
Dr. Ohnn barked out a surprised laugh. "Kid, you're something else."

Peter cleared his throat, suddenly nervous enough that his mouth went dry. “Does—does Mr. Fisk know about this?” Dr. Ohnn grinned, grasping Peter’s shoulder.

“Of course he does. Nothing goes on around here without him knowing it, young man. You better get used to having no secrets,” he laughed again, releasing Peter and moving back to the table. Relief flooded the teenager and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Enough of this though. Believe you me, you and I will most likely discuss the applications of this project, but you need to know what your duties will be in the lab while you work with me.”

Peter and Dr. Ohnn went back and forth about his strengths and weaknesses before they determined what he would be doing. Dr. Ohnn had a solid grasp on engineering, and Peter was excited to learn how that would apply to his research in biophysics. The older man was glad he knew the difference between a Flathead and a Philips (Peter was pretty sure he was joking about that, but he could tell he was happy Peter actually knew his way around a toolbox). They decided to further develop Peter’s skills in mechanics primarily, but the teenager was glad Dr. Ohnn wanted to work with him to develop and structure experiments appropriately. “Science is an art in some ways, Peter, but we can’t just throw things together and hope for a good outcome,” Peter winced as he thought of his webfluid formula. He was actually pretty lucky that he inherently knew those chemicals would combine correctly instead of blowing up in his face. He was glad he wouldn’t have to confess that lucky accident to Dr. Ohnn. “The scientific method is our bread and butter, and controlled experiments with exact variables are the safest and most efficient way to find the answers we seek.”

Before Peter knew it, it was five o’clock. Mr. Wesley appeared in the lab to collect him. As they rode down the elevator, Peter couldn’t help bouncing on the balls of his feet. He couldn’t believe what a great first day he had and was really looking forward to seeing Dr. Ohnn again.

“I take it you enjoyed yourself?” Mr. Wesley asked. Peter nodded, enthusiastically.

“Yeah, Mr. Wesley. Dr. Ohnn is amazing! I can’t wait to start working on some of those projects.”

Mr. Wesley smiled as the elevator drew to a stop and the doors opened. He led Peter to the receptionist and showed him how to sign out before taking him back to the entrance. A tall, dark-skinned man with very short, tightly curled hair and warm brown eyes was waiting for them. He was only a couple inches taller than Peter, and had a similar, stocky build. The man was young, clearly only a few years older than Peter, which put the boy at ease. It was nice to see someone close to his own age.

“Mr. Parker, this is Frederick. He will be taking you to and from your internship.” Peter smiled and held out his hand. Frederick grinned, his bright smile taking over his face as he shook Peter’s hand. “I’ll leave you to it. Remember Frederick will be there after school on Wednesday. I won’t be seeing you until Thursday, and by then I’ll have the month’s schedule worked out for you.”

“Thanks Mr. Wesley. See you Thursday!” Peter said as they left the building. Frederick led them to the car and opened the door for Peter. The boy nodded his thanks as he climbed into the back of the car.

He stared out the window, eyes taking in the dazzling lights of the city as they started to leave Manhattan. “Thanks for driving me, Mr. Frederick,” Peter said, remembering his manners. The driver laughed, glancing back at him in the rearview mirror.

“Nah, Mr. Parker. You gotta call me Freddy,” he said, still smiling broadly.

Peter smiled shyly back. “Okay, but only if you call me Peter.”

“Done deal, Peter,” Freddy replied, eyes back on the road. “What did you think of your first day?”

“It was incredible. I still can’t believe it,” Peter said, a little breathlessly. Freddy nodded in understanding.

“I know what you mean. I remember my first day. I was about your age, I think. It was intense.”

“Really?” Peter asked, somewhat awed. It was neat to meet someone who started in a similar position at him. 

“Yeah. I was one of the first people to get involved in his rehabilitation program when it went public a few years ago,” Freddy said, shrugging a little as he turned onto the freeway. “Things were bad, back then. Mom and I were struggling. Dad was a deadbeat. In jail more often than out, and money got so tight that I needed a job ASAP. No one wanted to take a chance on me though. Mr. Fisk hired me on the spot. I owe that man my life twice over. If it weren’t for him, I might be dealing on the street, you know? Instead, Mama’s got a great new job thanks to a reference from him, and I just started my first year at Columbia. On a scholarship! He really helped me turn things around.”

During the remainder of the ride they discussed lighter things. Both of them were huge fans of the Mets and they were excited for spring to come so they could see the games. When Freddy told Peter about the ticket discounts he would get as an employee of Mr. Fisk Peter was positively giddy. Peter learned Freddy grew up in Hell’s Kitchen, and they talked about their mutual love of sandwich shops. When Peter said there was no way the Melt Shop could compare to Delmar’s, Freddy laughed and told him it was on. “After you get settled in, we’ll go to both. We’ll stop at Delmar’s on the way to work, and then stop at Melt Shop on the way back. You’re gonna eat your words, man, let me tell you.”

Before Peter knew it, they were at his apartment complex. He thanked Freddy for the ride and waved him off as the man dipped back into traffic like it was nothing. Peter was grinning all the way upstairs, humming tunelessly in the elevator. He got to his door, turned the key in the lock and greeted May who was sitting at the table, staring at a letter. Peter took in her shaken expression and sat down next to her, rubbing her arm.

“May? May what’s wrong?” he asked, all the joy from the afternoon gone in a second. Anxiety filled him as he waited for her response. Peter should have known better than to start feeling so great. Things never actually stayed good for long.

May blinked tearfully as she looked at Peter, when a bright smile overtook her face. She laughed, aglow and happy, and Peter was thrown for a loop.

“Peter, Peter I—” she shook her head, touching the paper on the table in front of her. “You know how I enter those sweepstakes sometimes?” Peter nodded. “I—I won one. I actually won. I won 100,000 dollars, Peter!” she said, excitedly.

Peter was floored. “W-what? You—you what?” he asked, a small confused smile forming on his face.

“Peter, I won 100,000 dollars! I don’t have to work those insane hours anymore, and we can finally move!” she exclaimed, leaning over and wrapping him in a tight hug.

They could leave. Peter stared at the kitchen for a moment, still haunted by the crack of a gunshot and the snapping of Ben’s body against the counter. They could move. They could leave this place and never have to remember that ever again. Peter was ecstatic as he hugged May back. He couldn’t believe their luck. The life insurance finally went through. He had a great new internship with awesome benefits. May actually won something. They could finally go _somewhere else_ and leave that awful memory behind. Peter didn’t know what was making the universe throw some good things their way, but Peter wouldn’t question it.

Things were finally looking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Writing Facts:
> 
> 1\. You know that episode of Rick and Morty, where Rick says, "Quantum Carburetor? Jesus, Morty you can't just add a sci-fi word to a car word and hope it means something. Huh. Looks like something is wrong with the microverse battery."
> 
> Yeah. That is 100% how the conversation with Dr. Ohnn went down in this chapter. 
> 
> 2\. Dr. Ohnn was NOT originally in this. Not even a little. I'm not sure why he did. I've got a mini subplot happening with him that I need to wrangle in ASAP. Wish me luck. For comic fans who like him, you're welcome (and if you say he has brown hair, I say every time I've seen him in comics, he's a blondie, so let us agree to disagree). ;-) For those of you who don't know who he is, do you remember [The Spot?](https://static3.srcdn.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/WTF-Spider-Man-Villains-The-Spot.jpg)
> 
> 3\. Dragon Rider's of Pern is a sci-fi book series. A really nerdy sci-fi book series. By Anne McCaffrey. And I love it. So should you. ;-)
> 
> 4\. Freddy (my own little OC) was ALSO not meant to be here, but oh man, he's way more delightful than a nameless, faceless driver. He's not going to be important to the plot. Originally, he and Peter had a conversation about white privilege and social experiments.... yeah.
> 
> 5\. May's [red dress.](http://www.customcelebritydresses.com/image/cache/data/1.07-2014/Marisa%20Tomei%20Red%20Strapless%20Party%20Dress%202009%20People%20s%20Choice%20Awards%20Red%20Carpet-600x600.jpg)
> 
> 6\. May's [white dress.](https://static.gofugyourself.com/uploads/2009/02/69851_84574094-compressed.jpg)
> 
> 7\. Peter's [Hermes shirt.](http://brettplaymc.me/wp-content/uploads/2018/06/hermes-jacket-mens-checked-cotton-long-sleeve-button-down-shirt-l-leather-price.jpg)
> 
> 8\. This chapter and the next chapter were supposed to be one. After writing this though, I realized there was no way, and they'd have to be split. 
> 
> After the next chapter, the stage should be set. The build up is the hardest part, and I'll be honest, it's the most frustrating part for me to write, but necessary. Otherwise we just sit here and go "wait... wait what just happened?"
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. Please feel free to leave Kudos and comments! I love them. They are like the chocolate chip cookies I am no longer allowed to have because gluten and wheat just don't like me anymore. So give a chocolate chip cookie to my soul. ;-)
> 
> Follow me on tumblr! I am always happy to talk about my stories there, answer any questions, and reblog fun, nonsensical things [@hanuko.](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter was starting to get pretty confused by the criminals who seemed to think he worked for the Kingpin guy. 
> 
> Also, why couldn't anyone remember his name? Is Spider-Man that difficult?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay I'm posting on time!
> 
> It's Sunday night here, y'all. Pacific NW for the win. Boom. 
> 
> So... I may have fibbed a little when I said the last chapter that was supposed to be one chapter would only be two chapters then set up would be done. I guess I have a LOT of set up. To be fair, my outline really makes it look like it should only have been 1 to 2 chapters. Somehow a simple bullet point like "Peter meets his mentors" became... much more. So there will be a third chapter before the action really starts. Thanks for hanging in there!
> 
> Tony is coming. His chapter is written. It's just... you know, in theory two more chapters have to happen first, so....
> 
> Have fun reading!

"Okay, I welded on the power coupling, Mr. Davis."  
  


"Look, Parker," Peter's mentor began, pinching the bridge of his nose, "you can call me Davis. Hell, you can call me Aaron, but for the love of God, please don't call me _Mr._ Davis. That was my Father, and he was a dick." 

  


Peter waited a beat before responding, "What about A-aron?" Silence followed his question for a few minutes and Peter opened his mouth to apologize for his audacity when Aaron laughed, quiet and somewhat surprised.

  


"Aren't you gen-z or some shit?" he asked with a smirk. "I didn't realize kids your age would know a reference so old."

  


Peter shrugged. "We thrive on vines and pop culture references, Mist--um--Aaron." Aaron clasped him on the shoulder and Peter grinned, turning back to the anti-gravity climbers they were building. It was an incredible project. Apparently, Mr. Fisk was developing them to land a contract with emergency services in the city. They would be incredibly useful for fire fighters and paramedics in the during situations when access to the upper floors of a lot of buildings was cut off. 

  


"Man, you gotta meet my nephew. He's a little younger than you, but you'll like him. You draw? Maybe we can find a place on our off time and the three of us can throw some shit up."

  


Aaron was, by far, the most casual mentor he got to work with. On the first day they worked together, when the engineer saw Peter's designer clothes, he gripped his dark dreadlocks and shook his head as he told him in no uncertain terms that he should never wear those threads again unless he wanted to destroy them. He was especially upset that Peter was willing to mess up his brand-new Nikes. Since then, Peter was at his most comfortable during his internship on Aaron's lab days, wearing his worn-out Adidas and well used jeans and tee-shirts.  


He was the opposite of Dr. Ohnn in almost every way. Dr. Ohnn expected crisp professionalism at every turn, from his attitude to the shoes he was wearing (he objected to the Nikes for an entirely different reason). Aaron wanted things to be relaxed—said it made for a better work environment. Dr. Ohnn was methodical, neat, and concise. Everything was ordered, everything had a plan, and ideas were worked out on paper before being set in motion. Aaron was chaotic. He threw things together while explaining that just knowing how the parts work would be enough to see how they go together, teaching Peter how to see the flow of the machinery. Half the time they worked on ideas while doing some kind of physical activity, like running laps around the lab or hitting the punching bag he had set up in the corner. The only thing Dr. Ohnn and Aaron really seemed to have in common was that Mr. Wesley did not want Aaron to know about Spider-Man either, which was unfortunate because Peter figured his webfluid formula and the method he used to create it would have been well received. Aaron was friendly and easy-going, and he was so relaxed and welcoming with Peter that he found himself really wanting to become the man’s friend. Which was kind of weird when Peter thought about it. What 14-year-old wanted to be friends with a 32-year-old man? Nevertheless, Peter did, so he was both excited and nervous about Aaron’s suggestion to tag a wall.

  
  


"I don't know, Aaron," he said hesitantly, picking up a screwdriver and fiddling with it. "Isn't that illegal?" He loved graffiti. There was something so raw and beautiful about the art form, but the idea of committing vandalism really bothered him. He had seen what Mr. Delmar had to go through to clean the walls of his store, and knew it wasn’t an easy or cheap task.

  


"Man, don't pussy out on me. My nephew is 13 and he's already throwing up his art," Aaron said, picking up the climber and examining his work. Peter frowned and shook his head.

  


"Okay, first off, that is such a misogynistic insult. A _pussy_ threw you into this world, and probably snapped back into place after." Aaron raised his eyebrows, possibly surprised because Peter never used that kind of language, but in his head the boy could just see May nodding her head in approval. When it came to words and bullies (okay, not his own bullies, but other people’s at least), Peter had a hard time holding his tongue. "Second, there's nothing weak about wanting to stay on the right side of the law. It's called being smart. I'd lose my scholarship in a heartbeat if I got caught and that's not worth it. Besides, I have the artistic capabilities of a two-year-old."

  


Aaron grinned. "Shit, Parker, calm down. I wouldn't get my nephew busted like that. I know some legal walls. We'd be good." Peter sighed in relief. It had only been a few weeks, but he really didn’t want to get on Aaron’s bad side. He enjoyed their work and comradery way too much. He was glad the older man wasn't willing to jeopardize things for him because of his outburst. "You can even bring friends, if you know anyone who'd be down. And I can teach you how to paint. I’ve seen your schematics. You know how to draw. You just don’t _know_ you know, you know?"

  


Peter knew Ned would be overjoyed at the prospect. It was such a _badass_ thing to do. Then he thought of Michelle and her sketches. This would probably move him from loser to nerd in her book. "My best friend would want to go, and I know a girl who might be into it...."

  


Aaron smirked and chuckled a little. " _Ohhhh,_ a _girl._ Right."

  


"Come on, man, it's not like that," Peter blushed. 

  


"Uh huh, sure," Aaron said, grabbing the next set of parts they needed for the climbers. "But just in case, do you know about the shoulder touch?"

  


Peter left that day feeling a mixture of confusion and confidence. He may not see Michelle that way, but maybe if he got the courage to try to ask Liz out, he would see if Aaron's suggestion worked. 

  


Okay, he would probably _never_ get the courage to ask Liz out, but at least he had a pretty cool plan for Saturday. Ned was ecstatic when he told him, and Michelle—well she said it didn't sound totally boring, so Peter figured that was a win. He happily told May about his day (without saying exactly what he was working on—nondisclosure agreements were taken very seriously for all of Mr. Fisk's projects) as they ate lasagna that was only slightly burnt.

During dinner Peter’s phone rang, and he glanced at it and raised his eyebrows in surprise to see Mr. Wesley’s name glowing on the screen.

Working with Mr. Wesley was not what Peter expected. For some reason, he found himself thinking he’d be learning about scheduling and working in an office, so he was really surprised to find he was expected to show up in his nicest clothes other than his suits (a set of grey slacks with a matching grey blazer, a crisp button-up shirt and a tie—thank goodness for May and YouTube teaching him how to do a Windsor knot) so they could go out and—meet people. Mr. Wesley went all around Hell’s Kitchen, meeting several contacts who did all different kinds of work. Sometimes they would go to the police station and speak to some of the detectives there. They went to a hospital (the very one May had to commute to every day—part of the reason she was so excited about the extra money coming in was because she could finally work closer to home) to touch base with several doctors and nurses on staff. May was so surprised and happy to see him, she appeared right next to him to give him a hug, despite the fact he was there for work. He blushed bright red in embarrassment while Mr. Wesley merely smiled at them indulgently. Once Mr. Wesley even brought him to a winery and explained how to select different wines based on type, variety, vintage, and what it would be served with (if anything). Peter had no idea why that would be useful, but when he voiced this Mr. Wesley merely chuckled and said part of his work for Mr. Fisk was to ensure he had the right things available for the man to impress whatever company he was with. Being a Personal Assistant was way more in depth than managing a schedule.

Peter hadn’t seen Mr. Fisk at all since he had showed up at his and May’s apartment all those weeks ago.

He cleared his throat and excused himself from the table, telling May it was from work. She allowed it with a small frown, knowing they wouldn’t call unless it was important, but she was clearly still upset at the disturbance.

Peter answered the phone as he went into his room, shutting the door softly behind him.

“Hello Mr. Parker, I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Mr. Wesley said after Peter’s greeting.

“Oh, not really, Mr. Wesley. We’re just eating dinner. What’s up?”

“I’m sorry to call during this hour. Mr. Fisk just received word that the Devil is active again, and he is worried about a former associate of his,” Mr. Wesley spoke slowly and softly, as if he regretted bringing it up with Peter in the first place.

Peter glanced back at the closed door. “Oh—yeah. Um… does he uh—need Spider-Man?” he whispered. So far, Mr. Fisk had asked him to capture criminals for him a handful of times. It was nothing that required additional time outside of his normally scheduled patrols, but Spider-Man was starting to get noticed in Hell’s Kitchen. May had seen that the hero was branching out away from Queens on the news and shared the information with Peter over breakfast one day, wondering how much of the city the man would try to protect.

Mr. Wesley sighed on the other end. “Yes, Peter, I’m afraid he does, and I’m afraid he needs this woman found tonight.”

Peter nearly dropped his phone. Mr. Fisk had never set so short a deadline before. “Why?”

“Because the woman in question—how do I say this—” Peter sat down on the edge of his bed, clutching at his phone, trying to keep his strength in check. Mr. Wesley was never at a loss for words. “Mr. Parker, this woman is now running a drug trafficking ring.” Peter could hear the shame creeping into Mr. Wesley’s voice. “She was in one of his rehabilitation programs, but she was always very stubborn. She could never see the pros to working on the right side of the law, and she always thought she was too deep to get out. Now she’s apparently embraced her life of crime, and has been climbing up in the ranks. She’s responsible for the manufacturing and selling meth in the wealthier areas of town, and the Devil doesn’t discriminate.” Peter let out a little gasp, suddenly frightened for this nameless, faceless woman, despite the fact that she was doing terrible things. “He won’t care that she’s a woman, and won’t pull his punches, and she has always been delicate. Mr. Fisk is afraid that if the Devil finds her, she won’t survive it, and he is certain the vigilante has some kind of intel on her. I know you have school tomorrow, but—”

“It’s okay, Mr. Wesley. This is important. Can you text me her picture? And you need to help me lie to May,” Peter felt guilt twist in his stomach. He _hated_ lying to May.

“Of course, Mr. Parker. Hand the phone to her and I’ll give her an excuse while you change into your suit. You worked with Mr. Davis today, right?”

Peter left his room and apologized to May, saying he had to go back, handing his phone to her to allow Mr. Wesley to explain. May’s eyebrows furrowed as she grabbed the phone and Peter saw her open her mouth to give Mr. Wesley an earful as he went back to his room. He undressed and pulled on his suit, then put his loose jeans and a baggy sweater over it. He pocketed his mask as he left his room, and when he approached their dining area he saw May nodding. “Oh, I understand Mr. Wesley. It’s just that it’s a school night—are you certain that Peter has to go?” she waited a beat and nodded, frowning all the more. “That sounds like an incredibly dangerous project for a child to work on—no, no I know he’s capable! I don’t understand how he’s developing this to the point that he’s one of the only people who can fix—oh. Oh, I didn’t realize he was inventing it alongside—no, no one mentioned anything about patents for his work. I understand,” she looked out at peter and mouthed _anti-gravity_? and Peter shrugged helplessly with a small smile. So much for the NDA. “Thank you, Mr. Wesley. Please make sure he gets home safe. Alright. No, he’s here, I’ll give him the phone,” she sighed. “Goodbye,” she said, handing the phone back to Peter. Peter held it up to his ear as he gave May a hug and grabbed his jacket.

After he left the apartment, Mr. Wesley told him that since Frederick was already home for the evening, Francis would be the one to drive him to Hell’s Kitchen, near the last location the woman was seen. As soon as Peter exited the building, he saw the same BMW Mr. Wesley picked him up in about a month ago. Francis stood outside the vehicle and opened the door for Peter so the boy could climb in. Peter murmured his thanks, and Francis shut the door for him. Soon the car was moving towards Manhattan. Peter quickly shucked his jacket, sweater, and jeans, and he sat patiently in the car, holding his mask in his hands. His phone pinged with a new text, and opened it to reveal a picture of a woman with short brown hair and wide green eyes wearing a serious expression on her thin, pale face. Beneath was the name Janet Williams, with known aliases Jenny Stone and Jan Wilson, and her age was listed as 25 years old. Peter frowned and shook his head, wondering what could have caused her to start down this path. He hoped he would manage to find her before the Devil.

He knew the man’s work, now. He had seen it firsthand. One night when Peter was patrolling, he heard the sound of screaming and the thud of flesh on flesh in the distance. By the time he got there, the other vigilante had vanished, leaving behind a group of bodies in an alleyway. One of the men was dead, most likely because of his broken neck, and the only person conscious was murmuring about the Devil in a black mask. Peter was sick to his stomach when he discovered them. He was so shaken by it he had nightmares for days, wondering what could make a man beat another person to death. Peter was always so cautious of his strength, knowing if he put too much behind a punch, he could really hurt someone. The idea of somebody just losing it on another human being like that was sickening. He knew this woman wasn’t _good,_ really. She clearly wasn’t worried about the people who suffered from the drugs flowing into their communities, and only cared about getting paid, but Peter still didn’t want her to be dead in an alley somewhere, left out with yesterday’s trash. As soon as they got to the last location she was at—an newly renovated poolhall between a bar and a smoke shop, Peter slipped his mask on, thanked Francis for the ride, and jumped out of the car to get to work.

He swung around the area, looking for crime so he could weed out information. He stopped quite a few people—carjackers, a mugger here and there—but so far, he hadn’t seen any drug deals going down to give him the clue he needed to get where he wanted to go. He sat on the roof of an old brick building, staring down at the streets below him, waiting. Soon, his patience paid off. On the corner below him, just in front of the mouth of an alleyway, he saw a man in a thick jacket and ski cap meeting up with a college aged kid who was nervously adjusting the strap of his bag. Soon, Peter saw a small baggie exchanged for money, and he smiled a little under his mask. Finally.

The two parted ways, and after Peter webbed the college kid to a wall and relieved him of his purchase _— “you shouldn’t take drugs. They’re bad,”—_ he targeted the dealer and followed him throughout the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, sticking to the walls and rooftops above. The man seemed none the wiser as he strolled along, finally stopping at a deserted parking lot before lighting a cigarette. Peter decided now was the time to strike. He shot a web over the man’s head, causing him to drop his smoke and lighter in alarm. Peter dropped down behind the man, folding his arms across his chest and shaking his head.

“You know,” he began, causing the man to whirl around in shock, “every night I do this, I keep thinking of that really old song. You know the one? About the guy who meets the prostitute, and then the mugger, and he asks them why they do those awful things, and they say there ain’t no rest for the wicked?” the man reached into his coat pocket, whipping out a small pistol. Peter clicked his tongue and shot another web out, ripping the gun out of his hand and throwing it across the lot. “Is that the deal? Money don’t grow on trees? Because if that’s the case, I’m sorry man, but you just gotta go out and get a real job. I know paying taxes is a pain, but this can’t be worth it.” The man turned and ran, sprinting between the sparse cars in the lot. “Oh, good job, dude, keep going! You might get away!” Peter crowed cheerfully, Shooting a web to the building next to him and launching himself into the air, then running above the criminal along the wall. The man spun around, and staggered, seeing no one behind him. Peter paused and cocked his head, watching as the man looked wildly from side to side before ducking into an opening between buildings that the parking lot sat in front of. It contained a truck loading dock and a dumpster. Peter wondered why no one ever seemed to look up. The man ran back to the wall and started climbing on the dumpster so he could leap over it, but Peter shot a web at his ankle and pulled him back as he dropped to the ground. The man tripped to the ground and scrambled up, pulling a knife out of—somewhere. Peter laughed and shook his head, holding his hands out in front of him.

“Oh, no!” he said, sarcastically, “A small knife! I’m terrified! How did you know my weakness!” The man stared at him, backing himself into the wall, knife shaking in his hand. Peter shot a web out and snatched the knife, tossing it toward the dumpster before webbing the man’s hands to the wall.

“Get the hell away from me, bug boy!” he snarled, thrashing against his restraints. Peter stepped toward him menacingly, hands on his hips. The man jerked backwards and smacked his head into the wall, making Peter wince a little. “I ain’t worth shit to Kingpin! _I ain’t worth shit!_ I never even seen him!” the man wailed, clearly panicked. Peter paused, blinking in confusion, lowering his hands. Who the hell is Kingpin?

“Well, I’m sorry you have such low self-esteem man. You gotta be worth something to someone, and right now, you’re worth something to me, so we don’t even have to worry about Kingpin.” May as well use it. The man closed his mouth, breath coming quickly. Peter stepped toward him again and tapped his own chin as if in thought. “How about a deal, huh? Kingpin doesn’t need to know anything about you, right?” he asked. The man shook his head. “Never seen him? Never been a bother to him?” The man nodded vigorously. “Alrighty. I won’t say anything to anyone who asks, as long as you tell me what I need to know, okay buddy?”

The man let out a little sob-laugh, trembling against the wall. Peter felt his insides twist unpleasantly. Whoever this Kingpin was, he had to be a bad dude. He would need to ask Mr. Wesley the next time they saw each other. If this guy was as bad as he sounded, Peter had to take him out. He was sure Mr. Fisk didn’t want someone like that messing with the city. The man worked too hard to clean it up to allow it to be taken over by some crime boss or whatever.

“Okay, this will be easy,” Peter said, gently, as he pulled the little baggie out of his pocket to show the man what he was talking about. “This is meth, right?” The man shook a little, eyes wide as he saw the little bag. He nodded once. “Right. I thought so. Is this some of the shit that’s being made right here? The high-quality stuff y’all sell to middleclass folk instead of the addicts on the street?” The man nodded again. “Who is your boss, buddy?”

“Oh, no… no Spider-Guy, come on,” the man said, shaking his head.

“Spider-Man,” Peter corrected, stepping forward threateningly again.

“Sorry, sorry, Mr. Spider-Man,” Peter bit his lip to keep from laughing. On the one hand, he really _did_ feel bad about how much he was scaring this guy. On the other, he sold drugs to people, endangering their lives and allowing crime into this part of the city. Hearing himself called Mr. Spider-Man by this criminal was a little entertaining.

“It’s okay, man, we all make mistakes, and you can drop the mister,” Peter said soothingly, gently patting the man’s webbed arm. The man flinched a little. “But you gotta tell me who your boss is.” The man shook his head again. “Okay, what if I guess, huh? Is it Jenny? Or Janet?” the man went incredibly still, mouth dropping open in surprise. “Awesome, dude. That’s what I thought. You need to tell me where she is.”

“Spider-man, she’ll kill me if I tell you,” he whispered. “I—I can’t tell you.”

“Look—what’s your name?”

“J-Josh,” he stuttered.

“Look, Josh, this girl is in a bad spot, alright? There is a terrible man coming after her, and I need to get her in lockup first, before that happens.”

“You can’t take her to Kingpin!” the man screamed, desperately. Peter clapped a hand over his mouth and shushed him.

“I’m not taking her to Kingpin!” he hissed, narrowing his eyes. “But I am keeping her away from the Devil, alright? Tiny little thing like her? Even if she’s armed, that won’t stop him, and you know it. She’ll be ground up into the pavement before the police OR this Kingpin guy can get near her.”

Josh gulped, shaking again before nodding slowly. Peter lowered his hand and sighed, waiting for the crook to speak. “She—she’s at the warehouse district. There’s an old distribution center that has a big blue dolphin painted on the side. I don’t remember what company it’s for, but it’s the only one with a dolphin. It’s over by the docks, you can’t miss it.” Peter drilled him for more concise directions then webbed his mouth shut as he stepped away, Over by the dumpster he saw an old piece of cardboard that he grabbed and wrote, “Drug Dealer Found—Please Return to nearest Manhattan Precinct!” on it with a sharpie he kept in his pocket. He placed the sign and bag of drugs at the man’s feet, gave him a cheerful wave and bounded off into the night, pausing only to tell a passerby that he webbed up a criminal and they should probably call the cops (Peter knew to never use his own phone. The calls were to easily traceable).

He hitched a ride on a semitruck toward the docks and slipped off once they got close before wandering through the warehouses. Towards the outskirts he found what he was looking for. An old, decrepit white warehouse stood—a blue dolphin in the center of the wall with flaking paint. Peter was unsure what the warehouse could have stored, thinking it must have been used by a toy company as he saw the letters E o TOYS® below the dolphin. Peter crept forward, moving as quietly as possible as he reached the door of the warehouse, finding it slightly ajar. He snuck inside and saw that it was abandoned.

_Recently_ abandoned, most likely for the second time.

There was powder scattered on several surfaces, and clean square patches on the dusty floor. Footprints of varying sizes were spread throughout. Peter felt his spider-sense zing up his spine, and he spun around just before he heard the click of a gun being cocked.

Janet stood near the door, a briefcase in one hand and magnum in the other, pointing the gun at Peter’s head. Her hands were steady, and her face was impassive as she stared Peter down. Peter gulped and put his hands up, extremely wary of this thin, five-foot nothing brunette with a loaded firearm.

“I know you’re looking for me,” she said into the quiet. Peter nodded but otherwise remained still. Guns were scary. He knew, rationally that his abilities made it so he would know _just_ before the gun was fired, but sometimes when his sense of danger was heightened like it was now, _everything_ was a threat, so he was unable to differentiate between the general anxiety he felt at the situation and the actual, lethal danger. “I’m not going, Spider. You’re not taking me to Kingpin.”

“Okay one, Spider-Man. It’s not hard. _Spider-Man,_ ” he grumbled. “Two, who the hell is Kingpin?”

A flicker of confusion appeared in Janet’s emerald eyes. “You don’t work for Kingpin?”

“Considering I don’t even know who the guy is, I’m gonna have to say no,” Peter said, watching the gun slip downward slightly. Her grip loosened enough for him to take the risk, and he shot a web at it and pulled it from her hand, then threw it out of sight. She scowled suddenly and turned to run but wasn’t fast enough. Peter webbed her feet to the floor before running up to her and webbing her hands together, briefcase and all.

“I thought you were a lot of things, Spider, but I never pegged you for a liar,” she growled. Peter rolled his eyes, knowing the expression was wasted beneath the mask before webbing her mouth shut.

“I’m not lying,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look lady, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you’re going to the police. I’m taking you to a friend of mine first, and he’s gonna try to sort you out, and if he can’t, he’s taking you down to the station. That’s it.” Peter was given explicit instructions to never mention Mr. Fisk’s name. He had been practicing it every time he went anywhere with Mr. Wesley. _My employer_ this and _Our employer_ that. It was exhausting, but good practice for his nighttime activities. “No Kingpin involved—whoever that is—and this way, the Devil won’t beat you to death. Frankly, considering you were about to shoot me, I feel like it’s more than you deserve, but whatever.” He was lying. He didn’t like that she tried to shoot him, but he still didn’t want her beaten within an inch of her life and left for dead somewhere. She gave some kind of muffled response and Peter rolled his eyes again. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, pulling out his phone. “That’s what they all say.” He grabbed her and swung her over his shoulder in a fireman carry as he dialed Mr. Wesley’s number. “Mr. Wesley? I have her. I’m at the docks. If you give me like, two minutes I’ll be able to give you the street.”

“Already? Well done, Mr. Parker,” Mr. Wesley sounded pleased. Peter blushed a little as he left the building, a small grin working its way onto his face. “If you go to the loading docks by the waterfront, Derek and I will meet you there.” Peter mumbled an acknowledgment and hung up, glancing at the time. He winced a little when he saw it was already past eleven. May was going to kill him, internship excuse or no. He sighed, adjusting the load on his shoulder and quickly moved toward the rendezvous point. He set her down, shrugging at her glare when she bounced a little on the ground after he dropped her a little too roughly. “Sorry. I mean, you had it coming. Guns are not cool, lady.” She mumbled something and shook her head, staring at the ground. Peter shuffled his feet a little and watched as two town cars pulled in. Mr. Wesley stepped out of one, and Derek stepped out of the other.

“Hey kid,” Derek grinned, patting him on the shoulder. Peter liked the redheaded man quite a bit, he found. He was easy to work with and always friendly, and he was amazingly reliable whenever Peter had found whatever target Mr. Fisk sent him after.

“Hello Spider-Man,” Mr. Wesley said, looking down at Janet. He shook his head and sighed at her baleful look. “Would you get in the car?” Peter noticed Francis managed to switch from the BMW to the vehicle Mr. Wesley arrived in. The blonde man had climbed out of the driver’s seat and opened the door for Peter, waiting for him to get inside. Peter nodded and got in the limo. After he sat, he groaned a little, cracking his neck. It may not have been as challenging as usual—he got real lucky with that Josh guy—but he was still exhausted, and he still had a test to study for. Thankfully it was chemistry, so he doubted he’d have much trouble, but he still wanted to review the coursework, if only so he could see the look on Flash’s face when he surpassed him again in their scores. Peter sighed, glad the heat was on, and he rubbed his hands together, not realizing how cold he felt until he got into the warm limousine. On the seat beside him were the clothes he had changed out of earlier. He pulled them on over his suit before he reached over to the tiny minifridge and pulled out a Coke. Peter had done this often enough that he was comfortable grabbing the things he wanted after this type of job.

Soon Mr. Wesley joined him, grabbing a bottle of water for himself and directing Francis back to Peter’s apartment. Peter drummed his fingers on his Coke, reciting the equations he would need for his test under his breath as he stared out the window. Mr. Wesley had his tablet in front of him again and was scrolling through something or other for Mr. Fisk. He muttered something about a painting and caught Peter’s attention. Peter smiled at him and Mr. Wesley cleared his throat. “Our employer purchased a painting a little bit ago. It was very costly, but an interesting piece. I’m adjusting the finances because it was a spur of the moment decision.” Peter nodded and looked out the window again, privately recounting his evening.

“Mr. Wesley,” he asked, not looking at the man. Mr. Wesley hummed a response and Peter glanced at him once again, watching him tap away at the tablet in front of him. “Do you know who Kingpin is?”

Mr. Wesley slowed his movements, then put the tablet to the side before giving Peter his full attention. Peter wilted a little, feeling his spider sense tingle. Sometimes he felt that with Mr. Wesley. One day he confessed about this feeling he got—and his weird precognitive power—and Mr. Wesley thought on it and gave him a simple solution. Sometimes Peter would bring up questions that would make Mr. Wesley tense, or wary, and perhaps his spider-sense was reacting to the anxiety Mr. Wesley displayed. Sometimes it was hard to determine if an emotional impulse could cause harm to the person on the receiving end, so the danger his body was alerting him to could simply be a warning of the _possibility_ of a threat. Peter figured that answer made the most sense. After all, Mr. Wesley had never hurt him, and only helped him, and the other times it acted up when it shouldn’t was around Dr. Ohnn and Aaron, and all they were doing was teaching him. Peter couldn’t fault Mr. Wesley’s logic.

“Kingpin?” Mr. Wesley drawled the name slowly, as if feeling the word in his mouth. “I’m afraid I’m not sure who that is. Why do you ask?”

Peter shrugged. “No reason. Just—well tonight, the guy who told me where to find Janet was worried that I’d take him to Kingpin, and then Janet said she knew I worked for him? I never even heard his name before, and I don’t understand why they thought that. I mean, I work for Mr. Fisk, but he’s a good guy, and even if he wasn’t—which is ridiculous—I work for him as Peter Parker, not Spider-Man. No one even knows that Spider-Man goes after specific criminals. I’ve always had random targets because it depended on what crime was being committed, you know?” Peter babbled, staring at his soda while he talked.

“I see. Well, Mr. Parker, I can look into it for you if you’re worried.”

“I just really think Mr. Fisk should know about this guy. I mean, if he’s got people who run a drug trafficking ring scared, then maybe—I mean, I wouldn’t want him operating, you know?”

Mr. Wesley smiled. “I understand your concern, Mr. Parker. I will inform Mr. Fisk at my earliest convenience. However, if there _is_ a criminal who is that frightening, I must express _my_ concern at your interest in him or her. I don’t want you getting unnecessarily hurt,” he said, worry coloring his tone.

“Don’t worry about me, Mr. Wesley. I’ll keep my head down. That sounds more like a job for the FBI, or maybe the Avengers if it’s real bad,” Peter laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

Mr. Wesley smiled in return and turned the conversation to lighter topics as they drove back to Queens. Peter relaxed as they talked, now only nervous over his chemistry test in the morning. Well, and what May’s reaction would be over him getting home so late. He’d deal with it when he saw her, though. As for Kingpin—

Well. Mr. Wesley and Mr. Fisk didn’t have to know everything he looked into as Spider-Man, did they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Writing Notes:  
> 1\. Key and Peele reference. Bahahaha.
> 
> 2\. I _struggled_ with the start of this chapter. I know absolutely nothing about engineering. I ask my husband, and he goes, "What kind," and then I just flail my hands and say, "there's more than one kind?!" Yeah. BUT I remember Aaron Davis originally built those anti-gravity climbers, and you know. Comic book engineering is no where _near_ as in depth as the real thing so. Yeah. 
> 
> 3\. Is Peter OOC when he calls Aaron out? Also, while he is trying to be a good feminist, he needs to reexamine his personal biases. *cough*JANET*cough*
> 
> 4\. I heard Dan Savage say this about the vagina during a lecture. "A pussy spits out a human being and snaps back into place. A scrotum shrivels up when it gets too cold." I use this at every opportunity in my life.
> 
> 5\. May's deal about the dangers of Peter's project? Again, talked to my husband and told him about my climber solution, and he said if that actually worked most likely it would create an unstoppable, indestructable force that would essentially be another big bang. I have a child working on this in the story. What is my life. 
> 
> 6\. Say what you will about the Amazing Spider-Man movies, but that scene, with the [carjacker and the knife](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4_23t4NzAMk) was _hilarious_ and so very Spider-Man. Homage to you, Andrew Garfield. Nailed it. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I'm thinking of posting all my references/Easter Eggs on my tumblr, or possibly in a chapter at the end of the fic. Wondering what people think, so let me know there or here.
> 
> Leave a kudos or comment if you enjoyed it! 
> 
> Follow me [@hanuko](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! I reblog all the things, talk about my stories, and can take requests (no promises, but I'm always interested).
> 
> Thanks for reading! :-)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“But, why? I mean, if he’s so bad, why are they loyal? They’re criminals! Wouldn’t they just flock to someone else if they got a better offer?” Peter asked, eyes wide._
> 
> _Aaron chuckled. “You’d think. But you know, there’s usually a reason for loyalty, and with Kingpin, there could be lots of reasons.... Thing is, it doesn’t matter why they’re loyal. What matters is they are, and nothing can shake them of that."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm lowkey bummed out about the lack of response last chapter. I was sitting there all week, working on this chapter, waiting for an email... 
> 
> My feelings can be summed up [here.](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/post/186888402228/me-omg-i-posted-the-latest-chapter-of-the-my)
> 
> In other news....
> 
> I'm a lying liar who lies.
> 
> A late lying liar who lies. 
> 
> Chapter 3 has become chapters 3, 4, 5, and 6. I am not sure how this happened. No, really, I just... I apparently can't stop myself. It's a problem. I'm working on it. 
> 
> On the bright side, despite the fact that I'm a late lying liar that lies, chapter 6 will be posted tomorrow or the next day after I get a chance to edit it. Which is part of the reason I was late. Mostly I got it done because if I didn't wrap up this setup arc and get to the actual conflict like, _yesterday_ , we would be here all day/week/year. Seriously. 
> 
> Hope you like the latest chapter!

Peter leaned back, one hand sticking to the wall and the other holding a can of yellow spray paint, balancing precariously on a rickety metal ladder. As he pushed back, the ladder slipped under him, but he caught it with his feet and slammed it back against the wall.

“Whoa there, Pete, nice catch!” Aaron shouted below him, running over to the ladder. “That thing leaned almost a foot away from the wall! How’d you do that?"

Peter glanced at him and back at his hand, realizing he was holding on to the wall by his fingertips. He pressed his palm flat and laughed nervously. “Uh, good reflexes, I guess.”

“More like good luck,” Ned snorted below him, cutting through his red paint with black.

“Unlikely,” Michelle chimed in, analyzing her work with a small frown on her face. “Peter has dealt with more unlucky situations than anyone else in our year. It’s weird. Remember the time he lit his coat on fire in chemistry? Or the time he tripped in band and knocked over all those stands? Plus, there was the time he inadvertently started that food fight in the cafeteria by losing his balance and flinging his tray at Flash and his goons.” Peter and Ned stared at her for a moment, and even Aaron raised an eyebrow. She glanced over at them. “What? I’m incredibly observant.”

Peter shook his can before spraying continuously in one spot. “Alright,” Aaron said, “If you want it to drip, that’s fine, hold it still, but if you don’t you gotta keep moving it.” Peter nodded and moved the paint in an arc, filling in the area with wide strokes of his arm. “There you go.”

“It’s hard way up high like that,” Miles chimed in. Aaron was right, Peter did get along with the boy. They both had a lot in common. He was ridiculously smart and was a little envious that all three of them went to Midtown. When he told Peter they couldn’t afford it, Peter told him about the lotteries the school did for the lower income families, and how to apply for the scholarships available. He found out that Miles’ mom was a nurse, like May (although Rio worked in Queens, much closer to where they lived), and they both thought Delmar’s served the best sandwiches. Aaron shook his head at them, telling Miles off for betraying Sub Haven, but the gangly, dark-haired boy rolled his brown eyes and told his Uncle that his love of bread was a little ridiculous. “Sometimes, I climb on Uncle Aaron’s shoulders and he’ll walk me across. It helps to keep the paint moving.”

Peter smiled at Miles, picturing him and his uncle working together on some of his artwork. Miles was really talented, enough that he caught Michelle’s attention, and she saw a lot of potential in the boy. Michelle complimented a lot of his technique, but also gave some ideas where he could improve. He applied several of her suggestions, smiling the whole time. Peter grinned outright when he was watching them, amused that Michelle had a new fan. He wondered if she noticed how much Miles blushed around her—for all her observational skills, Michelle could miss the obvious, sometimes.

“So for the eyes, you need to cut the yellow with some black. That’ll help you make an outline, and when it dries, the white you use will really pop out,” Miles said as Peter finished filling in his lines with the yellow paint. Peter dropped the can and Miles caught it, then Miles tossed the black up to him. “Why Iron Man, anyway?”

Peter grinned, shaking his new paint can. His Iron Man was hovering above the Darth Maul that Ned was finishing up, pointing his repulsor at the Sith Lord menacingly. “Who else would you have go up against the dark side? The Force is strong with him.”

“Besides, Qui-Gon can’t fly,” Ned said, solemnly.

“More like I can’t draw a regular person’s face to save my life,” Peter laughed, cutting short, angled lines where the eyes would be on Iron Man’s face. “I think Qui-Gon could have used the Force to fly. He was _good._ We just didn’t see enough of him to know the true extent of his abilities.”

“Peter, Yoda can’t even fly. You can’t tell me Qui-Gon can fly if Yoda can’t.”

“Just because we haven’t seen it doesn’t mean it’s not possible.”

“You two are really nerdy, you know that?” Aaron said, shaking his head.

“You can say that again,” Michelle muttered, grabbing a can of red paint. Peter slid down from the ladder, taking a break to allow what he had done so far to dry a little.

“I know a better superhero to fight a… whatever that guy is,” Miles said, gesturing at Ned’s painting. Peter and Ned both dropped their jaws.

“No, stop right now. There is no superhero better than Iron Man. Not one.”

“This is Darth Maul!” Ned cried. “He’s the Sith Lord in Phantom Menace! How do you not know Darth Maul!”

Peter shushed him. “Priorities, Ned.”

“But—” Miles tried to interject.

“Tony Stark is a genius,” Peter said fervently.

“Okay, but—”

“He built his first set of armor under duress while he was imprisoned in Afghanistan.”

“Yeah, I know, but—”

“He created an element!” Peter waved his hands frantically.

“He synthesized an element that already existed, Parker. Get it together and quit fanboying over there,” Michelle said, spraying a few new lines on her work.

“No he—okay, yeah, he synthesized it, but still, that’s freaking impressive. The coolest thing about him is that he doesn’t have a superpower!”

“Money’s a superpower,” Aaron said with a laugh. Peter frowned and whirled around, staring at him in shock. “What?” Aaron asked, smiling.

“It’s like Batman,” Ned chimed in. Peter’s jaw dropped as he stared at his best friend, feeling betrayed. “Bruce Wayne does the same thing Tony Stark does, and it’s all because he has money. I bet if I had the money to get into a fancy school, I’d have my own super-human alias, too.”

Peter shook his head. “Et tu, Brute?”

“Glad to know you’re paying attention in English,” Ned said with a grin. “Come on, man, Iron Man is still my favorite. We’re gonna be science bros and graduate from MIT together and work as low-level grunts in his lab and trade spreadsheets for coins.”

Peter frowned at him but nodded slowly. “Alright, fine. I guess I forgive you. But only because you said Iron Man is your favorite.”

“I still know a better superhero,” Miles said, folding his arms over his chest. Peter and Ned looked at him disbelievingly. Miles grinned. “Spider-Man!”

Peter felt his face heating up and he turned away, under the guise of examining Ned’s painting while he tried to control his blush.

“Who—oh wait, the guy from YouTube?” Ned asked. “Oh man, he’s so awesome. Did you see the video where he stopped the bus from running into those cars? Where something happened with the brakes and it was gonna run that red light?” Peter turned around, hearing his friend’s enthusiasm.

“He saved my Mom, once,” Miles said, proudly. Peter was happy he had a positive impact on Miles before he even met him, even if the boy couldn’t know his secret identity.

“I’d like him better if he’d quit pinching my homies,” Aaron grumbled. The man turned to Michelle, watching her nod once in approval before setting down the red spray paint. Peter looked over to see what she had done. In the forefront, a man in a stiff suit with greying floppy hair and a thick mustache stood, mouth open as if speaking, but his coloring was ominous and not natural—greys and reds and dark blues highlighted his features. Above him in thick block letters was a recent quote of the distinguished man from a press conference about the newly forming regulations for the Avengers. “We must be vigilant. There must be accountability for these enhanced individuals, to protect mankind from their destruction.” Behind him was a dark mass, a grouping of human shaped figures in grey and black. In small clusters, somewhat separated from the larger group were smaller figures painted in the same shades as the others, but with distinctive red, dripping X-shaped marks on their chests.

“Uncle Aaron, you need better friends,” Miles said, coming to stand next to him and examine Michelle’s work. Aaron blinked, looking away from the image, almost startled. Peter couldn’t blame him. When Michelle wanted to make a point, she made a point, and Secretary Ross was _not_ her favorite person right now.

They packed up their paints and headed towards the parking lot, talking about their morning. Ned, Michelle, and Michelle’s new shadow led the group, with Aaron and Peter a short distance behind them. Peter sucked in a breath, working up his nerve. His search for Kingpin during the rest of the week was fruitless at best. Most of the criminals he rounded up in Queens hadn’t even heard of the guy, and the ones that did weren’t talking. Peter knew Aaron’s background was less than legal, considering how he even started working for Fisk, and he felt like he was running out of options.

“Hey, Aaron?” he began hesitantly. Aaron grunted, showing he was listening. “Have you—have you ever heard of the Kingpin?”

Aaron shrugged a little and glanced at Peter out of the corner of his eye. “Who’s asking?”

Peter glanced down to his feet as he walked. “I’m just curious. I’ve—I’ve heard some rumors about him? In Hell’s Kitchen.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. Sometimes when he and Mr. Wesley went to shadier establishments, he had heard the name, especially since he brought it up with the man. “He—he sounds bad. I just—it makes me nervous, you know? I mean, sometimes Freddy is late picking me up, and I just wonder if I need to watch my back more while I’m waiting.”

Aaron scoffed a little and shook his head. “You live in _Queens,_ and not exactly a great part, and you’re worried about someone mugging you in front of Fisk Tower? What kind of crap are you watching on TV, man?” Peter flushed, thoroughly embarrassed. He lived in New York his whole life and knew the likelihood of being robbed in front of his work was slim to none. Aaron clasped a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Look, you don’t have to worry about Kingpin. He ain’t a mugger, okay?”

Peter looked up at him, eyes wide. “You know him?” Aaron sighed and glanced from side to side before settling his gaze on the group in front of them, who were oblivious to the seriousness of the conversation between the two.

“Look, man, I can’t tell you much, okay. I don’t know him. No one _knows_ him. He’s like a ghost. He doesn’t even have a name. What I do know, is that he isn’t a mugger or some random criminal on the streets. He’s a powerful dude, but he has lackeys. You’d never see him.”

Peter frowned, thinking about the random dealer from last week. He understood how Janet would know of Kingpin, seeing as she ran a drug trafficking ring, but Josh was the lowest guy on the ladder. How could he know how bad Kingpin was?

“He’s everywhere though, man. Practically has the city in his pocket. He’s all kinds of crooks working for him, from the top of the food chain to the bottom, and they’re all loyal to him,” Aaron said, entirely serious.

“But, why? I mean, if he’s so bad, why are they loyal? They’re criminals! Wouldn’t they just flock to someone else if they got a better offer?” Peter asked, eyes wide.

Aaron chuckled. “You’d think. But you know, there’s usually a reason for loyalty, and with Kingpin, there could be lots of reasons. Some are with him because he’s made some hefty promises and delivered. Some are there because they owe him. Some are being blackmailed, and some are too scared to even think of betraying him. Thing is, it doesn’t matter _why_ they’re loyal. What matters is they _are_ , and nothing can shake them of that. That’s what I hear, anyway, and you won’t get any more information than that, so it would be best if you stopped asking,” Aaron finished firmly as they reached his car.

Peter spent the next few days trying to put together puzzle pieces that didn’t fit. He couldn’t comprehend it. How could one person have control of the criminal underworld of the city, and even if that were the case, wouldn’t everyone know about it? It frustrated him to no end, because he felt like he was missing something obvious. Something was tickling the back of his brain, like when the answer to a question on a test was just hovering out of reach. No matter how hard Peter tried to focus, it slipped farther away.

Mr. Wesley had noticed there was something off about Peter. Of course he did, he noticed everything. Peter hadn’t told Mr. Wesley how extensively he was looking into the Kingpin. He didn’t want the man to worry about him. He was especially glad for it now, seeing as—for the first time in his crime-fighting history—Peter was not able to catch the bad guy. He managed to shrug Mr. Wesley’s concern off, saying that he wasn’t spending much time with kids his own age since he started the internship. The man didn’t need to know that Peter only had two friends. Well, maybe two. He was never sure where he stood with Michelle.

“Well, you have been spending a lot of time with us. We originally said one to three days, but lately you come down four or five or sometimes six times a week,” Mr. Wesley said with a smile. Peter shrugged as he adjusted his tie, mumbling something about the work being interesting. It was, too. The last time he was with Dr. Ohnn they had finally started construction on his new radiation device, the Anti-gravity Climbers he and Aaron worked on were ready to be tested, and Mr. Wesley had introduced him to a couple of people on the city council. The fact the Peter had managed to avoid stammering through his own introduction was pretty surprising. There was nothing else quite like this job, and he really enjoyed what he was learning and doing. “Perhaps you should cut back to the original three days we suggested in your contract.”

Peter frowned at that. “But, Mr. Wesley—”

“Ah,” Mr. Wesley interrupted, holding up his finger, “It’s for the best, Mr. Parker. You’re young. You should be cultivating your interests and developing relationships with your peers, not holing yourself up in a lab or catching criminals non-stop. I’ll speak to Aaron and Dr. Ohnn about it, to see that they aren’t overworking you. If you don’t wish to take this time to spend with your friends or to relax, perhaps you could join some type of extracurricular activity.”

“I’m in band,” Peter mumbled, defensively.

“Yes, third chair and you could be first if you spent a bit more time practicing,” Mr. Wesley chided. Peter hunched inward, frowning a little. Mr. Wesley was right, he could practice his clarinet more, and would most likely place higher, but it was _boring_. He only took it because he had to have an art credit. As soon as 9th grade was over, he was donating that instrument to Mr. Hughes and not looking back. He didn’t care how many fingering jokes you could make in that class; he was done.

Peter appreciated that Mr. Wesley was concerned about his future, but he felt weird about how parental he acted, sometimes. It was like once he started actually teaching Peter about his job, suddenly he felt like he needed to be involved in all the aspects of the teenager’s life. It was a little suffocating, but at the same time Peter felt a familiar warmth fill him at the man’s actions, which he hadn’t felt since Ben passed away. “But that’s a class, Mr. Parker, not an extracurricular. I was thinking you could join a club of some kind. Debate may be a good choice. It could easily help with the role you’re taking while shadowing me.”

“At Midtown you can’t be in Debate until junior or senior year. It’s really competitive,” Peter said with a shrug.

“Well, regardless, it would be good to look into _something._ Besides, some downtime would probably be very good, considering the Gala is coming up in a couple of weeks.”

Peter raised his eyebrows in surprise. “What Gala?”

Peter went home that night to tell May that Mr. Fisk was hosting a party for several important figures of the city, and the proceeds were going to the _Marlene Vistain Mother’s and Children Foundation_. It was a charity designed to help newly single mothers. May had been a recipient of some of their aid when Ben had first passed away, so being able to participate in an event that would support it was very exciting. When Peter told her he was told he should be cutting back on some of the work he was doing for Mr. Fisk in the meantime, she was visibly relieved. Peter didn’t realize how much of his time he was actually spending on his internship. Mr. Wesley was probably right. He should take a breather. Besides, once he had a clearer head, maybe the Kingpin mystery would be easier to solve. He didn’t think he would sign up for a new extracurricular. All the ones that interested him, Flash was involved in, and if he wasn’t interested, he didn’t see much point in participating.

Flash had caught on really quickly that Peter was working less days in Manhattan. “What happened, Penis? They find out you’re not nearly as smart as you pretend to be?” He sneered, the day before the Gala. Peter drew in a deep breath with his nose and slowly released it from his mouth. Flash was just a bully. He couldn’t do anything to Peter outside of saying mean things that weren’t true, and maybe shoving him into lockers. It would not be worth it to antagonize the bully over something so small and idiotic.

“Why, Flash? You want a chance to show Mr. Fisk what you can do?” he asked in a saccharine voice before snapping his fingers. So much for not antagonizing the guy. “Oh, wait, sorry. I forgot. I meant to say, do you want your _parents_ to go down there and wave money at Mr. Fisk, so you don’t have to do any actual work, but get credit anyway?” A brief look of hurt appeared in Flash’s eyes, and Peter instantly regretted the words that came out of his mouth. Then felt a whole new type of regret when Flash shoved him into his locker, hard, and punched him in the face.

The school nurse asked what happened. He said he ran into a door.

He wasn’t a snitch, after all.

May fussed over him when he got home, and he let her baby him a little. It was rare to not have to hide an injury from her, these days, and it was nice to have her press a bag of ice wrapped in a towel gently against his face. Most likely it would clear up by Saturday, but the Gala was Friday night, and he was going to show up dressed to impress in that black Armani suit, and it wouldn’t matter because everyone would be wondering about the stupid shiner on his face. He told May, and she suggested he could use her makeup, but their skin tones were too different. Peter just resigned himself to showing up bruised.

Mr. Wesley did not like that at all. The second Peter appeared at the gallery (an hour before the first guests were to arrive, a standard for most of the employees that would attend), the man laid eyes on him, and an impassive look came over his face—one that Peter associated with Mr. Wesley being disappointed. He frowned and tugged at the buttoned collar of his shirt, clutching his black bowtie in his hand. Mr. Wesley shook his head as he approached and gently pulled the tie from him. “What happened?”

“Nothing, Mr. Wesley,” Peter said as he felt his stomach sink. He suddenly wondered if he would even be allowed to attend. Mr. Wesley reached out and put his hand under Peter’s chin to tilt his face up so he could examine the damage.

“Doesn’t look like nothing. Run into some trouble on patrol last night?” he asked, gently. He dropped his hand and Peter shook his head, feeling his face flush in embarrassment at how he even got the black eye.

“It’s just a kid at school. It doesn’t matter, Mr. Wesley. I-I can go, if you want. I—”

“Why would I want you to go?” Mr. Wesley asked, almost alarmed. He sighed and gently pulled Peter toward the bathroom. “Mr. Parker, the main reason you’re here is so Mr. Fisk can show you off. You’re an ideal example of the change we’re working for within the city.” The sinking feeling started to go away, and Peter let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. After they entered the bathroom, Mr. Wesley wet a towel (an honest to God towel, not a paper one. _Geez,_ this place was fancy), and handed it to Peter, asking him to wash the skin around his eye. Peter followed his instructions, watching the man type a quick message out on his phone. After a few minutes a woman with a short, blonde bob and red glasses showed up with her lips pursed. She carried a dark, black and silver case. She tsked a little as she looked at Peter’s eye, then without a word she set her case on the counter and opened it to reveal the most makeup Peter had ever seen. If May could get her hands on this, she would be ecstatic.

The woman pulled out a square of cloth and unfolded it quickly, revealing what looked like a large sort-of bib. Peter removed his jacket at her prompting and handed it to Mr. Wesley, then allowed her to wrap the cloth around his shoulders to protect his shirt. Soon she began applying several creams and powders to his whole face—not just the skin around his eye. She laughed at the questioning quirk of his eyebrow and told him it was for blending. “It’s really obvious if you wear makeup in just one place, especially if it’s to cover up a bruise,” she said, gently stroking a brush along his skin. After a few minutes she nodded her head in satisfaction and took the bib off, telling him to look in the mirror. Peter turned around and was stunned. It looked like nothing had happened at all. Not only that, but the makeup had the added benefit of covering up his acne scars and smoothing over his freckles. Peter felt like he looked—older, almost.

“Oh wow, that’s cool,” he said breathlessly. The woman laughed again as she ducked out, and Mr. Wesley handed back his jacket. Peter let it hang over his arm, and as Mr. Wesley handed over the tie the door swung open again, revealing the towering figure of Mr. Fisk. Peter straightened up instantly.

The businessman glanced between his PA and new intern. “Is everything alright, gentlemen?”

Mr. Wesley nodded. “Peter had some trouble with a bully, who seemed to think it would be okay to hit him in the face,” the man said as he adjusted his glasses. Mr. Fisk narrowed his eyes at Peter, and Peter just sort of shrugged helplessly.

“Hmm,” Mr. Fisk grunted, stepping forward and eyeing the way Peter tugged at the tie in his hands. “Wesley, Vanessa will be arriving shortly. I would like you to greet her and thank her for setting up the use of this establishment,” he said, dismissing Mr. Wesley from the space. Mr. Wesley straightened up a little, looking back and forth between the two. He opened his mouth—either in protest or agreement, Peter wasn’t sure—but didn’t allow himself to speak after a short look from Mr. Fisk. He nodded and left the restroom, leaving Peter alone with the goliath.

Peter shivered a little. He may have seen Mr. Fisk a few times, but not enough to get used to the man’s giant stature, and this was the first time he was actually alone with him. He focused all his attention on his limbs and forced himself to hold still and not tremble. He got the feeling he would never be comfortable in Mr. Fisk’s presence.

Mr. Fisk held his hand out, and Peter stared at it dumbly, wondering what Mr. Fisk wanted. “Hand me your tie,” he said, kindly. Peter laughed a little nervously and handed it over. The dim lights overhead gleamed against the skin of his scalp as he reached toward Peter’s neck with his hands. It took everything in Peter not to flinch. Mr. Fisk paused. “Have you ever tied a bowtie before, Mr. Parker?” Peter shook his head. “Will you allow me to assist you?” Peter nodded, a little dumbfounded. Mr. Fisk flipped the collar of Peter’s shirt up, and carefully wrapped the black strip of cloth around his neck. With surprisingly deft fingers, the man artfully twisted the cloth into the correct shape. “This was possibly the only useful thing my Father taught me,” he said quietly. Peter swallowed at the unprompted admission.

“Sir?”

Mr. Fisk’s eyes did not stray from his work as he tugged against the tie. “He was a bully, Mr. Parker. The worst bully I ever had the misfortune of knowing. I know a thing or two about how these kinds of people operate, and I want you to know that they are weak,” Mr. Fisk said coolly, fingers still holding the points of the bowtie as his eyes flicked up to meet Peter’s. “They are weak and useless, and at the end of the day, they know this about themselves, so they try to make others feel weaker and more useless to pick themselves up. I admire your ability to abstain from violence against your aggressor. When I was your age, I certainly couldn’t control my temper that well.” Mr. Fisk finally dropped his hands, gesturing with his head towards Peter’s jacket.

Peter smiled slowly and pulled it on, straightening and buttoning it after it set comfortably on his shoulders, considering the man’s words, a small flush of pride filling his chest. It took a lot of effort to stop himself from laying into Flash. He didn’t even know that he needed to hear those words about the bully until that moment. It was almost like something Ben would say—granted, not nearly as eloquently, but the sentiment was the same. The goliath wrapped a meaty hand around Peter’s shoulder and gently turned the boy to the mirror to allow him a chance to see his reflection. Peter’s mouth dropped a little. He couldn’t believe how put together and mature he looked. “Come now, young man. I have some very important guests I want you to meet,” he said as he guided Peter to the exit. Peter glanced up at him, shyly.

“Mr. Fisk?” he asked, tentatively. Mr. Fisk turned back to him and nodded to show he was listening. “Thanks. I—I really appreciate you saying that.”

Mr. Fisk held open the door. “Of course, Peter,” he said with a smile. “I will always tell you what you need to hear.”

Peter smiled, confused by Mr. Fisk’s odd phrasing, but happy, nonetheless. Mr. Wesley and a tall woman in a white, knee length dress waited for them in the hallway. Mr. Wesley nodded at their appearance, and the dark-haired, tanned woman stepped forward and held her arms open. “Wilson,” she greeted warmly as the man wrapped her in a hug. She looked like a doll in his arms.

“Vanessa,” he said softly, letting go quickly. He gestured behind for Peter to join them, and when Peter stepped next to Mr. Fisk the man placed a warm hand on his shoulder, gripping him gently. “This is Peter Parker. He is the new intern I’ve been telling you about,” he said quietly in his soft, raspy voice. Vanessa’s eyes went from curious to warm. She held out a hand and Peter grasped it, shaking it nervously. “Mr. Parker, this is Vanessa Mariana. She is an,” he paused as if looking for the right word, “associate, of mine.”

Vanessa laughed, shaking her head and winking a little. Peter felt himself blush at her playfulness. He wasn’t used to beautiful women winking at him. “H-hi Ms. Mariana. I’m Peter,” he said in a rush.

She laughed again and let go of his hand. “Please, Peter, you do not need to waste formalities with me,” she said, leaning forward with a bright smile on her face. “You can call me Vanessa.”

“O-okay Vanessa,” he said, sheepishly.

“My goodness, Wilson, he’s adorable,” he flushed brighter at the words, getting more embarrassed by the second.

“Vanessa,” Mr. Wesley interjected, glancing at Mr. Fisk before continuing, “while we appreciate your newfound affection for Mr. Parker, we do need to go out and start greeting the guests.”

Vanessa laughed again and waved them off. Mr. Fisk stood quietly with her as Mr. Wesley led Peter out to the main area of the gallery. Peter stared at one of the paintings—an impressive piece with bright splashes of bold reds and golds against the canvas, pausing to get a better look. Mr. Wesley waited beside him.

“Our employer can be very intimidating, sometimes,” he said gently, causing Peter to glance back at him sharply. Mr. Wesley’s face was steady and mostly impassive, but there was a wrinkle around his eyes and in his forehead that betrayed his concern. Peter smiled at him.

“Yeah, he can be,” he allowed, swallowing a little. “But he also seems to know just what I need to hear. Isn’t that weird?” Wesley nodded his head in acknowledgment and led Peter to some partners and associates of Mr. Fisk. May arrived (not allowed to come before the doors opened for the rest of the guests) and found Peter quickly in the crowd. She tugged against the hem of her red dress once or twice, but otherwise did not show her nervousness. Mr. Wesley took them both around to meet people until Mr. Fisk found them again.

“Are you enjoying the evening, so far?” he asked, handing a glass of water to Peter, who sipped it quickly, glad to have something to soothe his parched throat. Peter nodded. “Well, the night has really only just begun. Tell me Peter. I know your school went on a trip to his company, but have you ever had the fortune to meet Norman Osborn?”

Ned was not going to believe that he ate canapes with the founder of Oscorp. He grinned, amazed that this was his life.

* * *

EDIT 5/19/20:

Look at this wonderful art!!!! Look at it!!!! Bask in it's wonderful glory! This is MJ's graffiti of Ross, created by the amazing [fastreader12!](https://fastreader12.tumblr.com/) Go check them out!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Writing Notes:  
> 1\. I just wanted everyone to do something fun and remotely normal. Kids gotta be kids, man.
> 
> 2\. Mmm-hmm. Sure MJ. You're just observant. Of one boy. All the time.
> 
> 3\. Of course Peter is painting Iron Man taking on Darth Maul. Can this be a thing? Please?
> 
> 4\. Did Tony create an element, or forge an element that already existed? Truth be told, that piece of the story was told a little... oddly? Badly? Forgetfully? I decided he didn't invent an element. He just used the tools at his disposal and his vast knowledge to make one that just happened to be naturally occurring. Is this possible in real life? I highly doubt it. Does it work for comic book science? Sure, why not. 
> 
> 5\. Money is 100% a superpower. 
> 
> 6\. Did you notice how none of the bad guys seem to know who Spider-Man is? Kind of like how Tony doesn't know Peter's alter-ego's name in Civil War? So I think that the kids/locals have always had a better grasp of what Spider-Man can and does do for them then the other heroes or others that are out of touch with the plight of the little guy. He's a hero for them, first and foremost, because who else will be?
> 
> 7\. ~~If anyone draws Michelle's graffiti art of the Ominous Secretary Thaddeus Ross I will be so excited I might cry. I mean, it seems like a pretty cool piece to me. I just lack the ability.~~ THANK YOU [@fastreader12!](https://fastreader12.tumblr.com/) It's so lovely! [Here is the original post.](https://fastreader12.tumblr.com/post/618574866151620608/we-must-be-vigilant-there-must-be-accountability)
> 
> 8\. Why is Wesley suddenly pushing Peter toward school and friends and grand parties? Surely it has _nothing_ to do with the fact that Peter is on the hunt for a certain crime boss. 
> 
> 9\. Peter is looking for Father Figures, guys. Let him look. He's 14 and terribly alone in the world. It's gonna happen. 
> 
> 10\. Shit's about to get real. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Follow me on tumblr! I post fun and nonsensical things, am happy to talk about my stories, and am interested in hearing prompts/requests! No promises on the last. This WIP is a monster. But I'm always looking to write other fun things. Come find me [@hanuko.](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Please comment or kudos! They fill my soul with warm, happy, opposite-of-gluten-free-omg-what-is-my-life cookies!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Everything alright?” Peter whirled around and saw Dr. Ohnn quirk a blonde eyebrow at him. “Peter?” he stepped forward and Peter flinched back a little, struggling to find air. Dr. Ohnn was opening and closing his mouth, obviously saying something, but Peter could not hear anything beyond the rush of blood in his ears._
> 
> OR
> 
> Peter has a really hard day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you this one would come early.
> 
> For those of you paying attention, I changed the summary of the story a little. ;-)
> 
> The next chapter was one of the first I wrote, and because of the changes that happened (my outline looks really different. The story took on a life of its own!), I have to SERIOUSLY EDIT that chapter. 
> 
> Possibly rewrite it. O.O
> 
> It should still be posted Sunday or Monday, though, if all goes well. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: Description of violence, panic attacks, and flashbacks. I've updated the tags accordingly.
> 
> Enjoy!

Peter thought he wouldn’t be able to sleep that night, with everything that happened. He got to meet Norman Osborne. Norman Osborne! Sure, his company had some shoddy containment units and his son was a complete, homophobic tool, but his work in biochemistry gave the world decades of advancements that no one had ever seen before. Oscorp provided so much—weapons, protective body armor and even medicine. Their work with genetics alone was more cutting edge than any other organization. Peter was sure if there would be a cure for cancer, it was going to come out of Oscorp.

Not only that, but everyone he met and spoke to was amazing. People actually paid attention to him. Mr. Wesley wasn’t lying when he said they wanted to show Peter off. He was introduced to so many people, and to all of them Mr. Fisk or Mr. Wesley sang his praises—about his school, work ethic, and even his personality. It was insane! He had never been made much of—certainly not like _that._ Between Vanessa, Mr. Fisk, and Mr. Wesley, he and May probably covered every square inch of the space, including some of the sidewalk outside. He was so exhausted by the end of everything that he could have kissed Freddy when he showed up in a limo for Peter and May. On the way home, the driver stopped at the aforementioned Melt Shop. Peter had to hand it to Freddy. As he ate his burger melt with extra pickles, he had to admit it was a pretty good sandwich. It wasn’t Delmar’s, but it was good.

Despite the fact that his brain was whirling a mile a minute, Peter’s stomach was full, and his bed was invitingly warm and comfortable compared to the bitter chill outside. Peter’s eyes closed the moment his head hit the pillow.

At school, Peter told Ned all about the party, and his best friend hanged on to his every word as if it was gospel.

“You actually _met_ Norman Osborn?” he whispered. “We went to his tower for academic purposes. For the education of the future. Because we are the best and brightest. We didn’t even see the back of his head!” Ned said excitedly. “Not only that, but Harry _goes_ here, and Mr. Osborn has never been seen here. You _met_ him?”

Peter nodded enthusiastically and Ned whooped. Peter was glad he started cutting back on his internship hours. He didn’t realize how much his time there was affecting his meager social life until he got to hang out with Ned again. Loyal, smart, forgiving—in the past 3 months, Peter had bailed on Ned constantly. It was always important why, and was usually Spider-Man related, sometimes work related, but he still felt bad. Ned was a good bro, though, and when Peter told him his hours were being cut back, the first thing the other boy did was tell him about this older show he found called Firefly, and that it was great because it was about _space cowboys,_ so they had to watch it together. They knocked it out over the following weekend and followed it up with Serenity.

Other than catching up with his best friend, Peter still wasn’t sure what to do with the new free time. Mr. Wesley had asked what kinds of clubs Peter had checked out, and gave his disappointed face when Peter stammered that he hadn’t really been looking into it. At a loss, he told Ned about his dilemma. Ned lit up at his request, and immediately demanded Peter sit in on an Academic Decathlon meeting.

“Dude, AcaDec is awesome. You have to be really quick, have strong reading comprehension and mad trivia skills, and it looks great on college applications. Besides, if Mr. Wesley wants you in Debate, AcaDec members are some of the first picks for the club.”

“I don’t know, man,” Peter said, thinking of spending more time than necessary with Flash.

“You know, Liz Allen is the captain,” Ned reminded him with a wink, which was how Peter found himself in a small classroom, observing the Academic Decathlon practice. Flash got every answer wrong, and Abe poked fun at him for it, which made Flash growl and glare at Peter, for some insane reason. Peter would never understand why he was always Flash’s target. Finally, Mr. Harrington—enthused at seeing Peter show some interest—invited Peter to join them for a lightening round. Ned gave him two thumbs up, and Liz raised an expectant, yet curious, eyebrow at him. He grabbed a bell and sat at the edge of the stage, setting his bell on the floor. Ned sat at the desk positioned above him and offered him a high-five (well, a low-five for him, a high-five for Peter) that Peter reciprocated before they began. At first, Peter was hesitant to chime in. He felt like an intruder. Eventually, Ned kicked him in his hipbone and Peter staring ringing his bell. He was the fastest to ring in on all the science and math questions, but he seemed to surprise everyone by his social studies and literature knowledge. Peter nearly rolled his eyes at the astonished look on Liz’s face. He was at a school for geniuses on a _scholarship._ That wasn’t just for show. After the five-minute round was over, Mr. Harrington approached him and folded his hands in front of him, leaning forward with a hopeful look on his face. “You know, Peter, we almost had nationals, this year,” he said with a smile. “I bet we would have cinched it if you were on the team. Are you really considering joining us?” Peter heard Flash scoff.

“I—well yeah, I think so,” Peter said, shyly glancing at Liz who grinned briefly before schooling her face into a more serious expression. He felt his cheeks warm up under her gaze and immediately turned back to Mr. Harrington. “Mr. Wesley—he’s one of people in charge of my internship—he really wanted me to join some kind of extracurricular to help round out my resume.”

Mr. Harrington clapped his hands together. “Peter, if you could join us, that would be wonderful! We meet every Monday and Thursday. Could you manage that?”

“What?” Peter spun around to see Flash glaring. “We already have a spot for everyone for the competitions! We’re already full up!”

Mr. Harrington shrugged. “For now, Peter can be an alternate. We’ll see how practice goes, and we’ll probably test out everyone again on all the components of a competition to see what the new order should be.”

“But—”

“No one wants to hear it, Eugene,” Michelle said. When she wasn’t practicing with the group, she had her nose in her book, like now. Peter gave her a small, confused smile, and was unsure if she even saw it, considering she hadn’t taken her eyes off the page in front of her.

“Really, Flash, this will be good for the team,” Liz said, taking command of the room, tucking a dark lock of hair behind her ear. “Peter can offer us a new perspective and a fresh outlook. We could use that.”

“That settles it!” Mr. Harrington declared. “I’ll see you all on Thursday! Peter, Liz will give you copies of the study guides.”

When Peter told Mr. Wesley so he could rearrange his schedule, Mr. Wesley showered him in praise, glad of the steps Peter was taking to ensure his future. Peter was a little stunned. It was an afterschool club, for goodness sakes. They’d meet twice a week and go to a few competitions. Yes, it was prestigious, but it wasn’t the most exciting thing he could attest to participating in.

“Academic Decathlon is… what, exactly?” Dr. Ohnn asked as he sparked his welding torch to life. Peter watched him for a minute as the man started sealing the metal panels at the bottom of the chamber before returning to the inner circuitry he was working on for the computer.

“It’s like… a trivia club, I guess. Well, more like a test-taking club? It’s been around for forever. It started out in California, then became national, and last year it became international?” Dr. Ohnn shook his head. “Oh. Well, it can be pretty intense. The competition is split into all different kinds of levels, but everyone on our team is honors—that’s GPA based, and I guess anyone with a lower average than 3.75 doesn’t even try to get on the team at Midtown. You have to take tests, write essays, give impromptu speeches, compete in trivia rounds—practice has been pretty fun so far.

“No wonder Wesley is over the moon about it,” Dr. Ohnn said, not looking away from his work. “That extracurricular alone is pretty outstanding to see on a resume. Plus, he and Fisk can brag even more about the new prodigy they have under their respective wings.” Peter shrugged, slowly connecting the wiring to the motherboard. Dr. Ohnn brought up an interesting point.

“I guess,” he allowed, leaning back to examine his work. Peter’s phone pinged and he picked it up to see Mr. Wesley had sent him a text. He sighed. It was most likely Spider-Man’s next target. Since his hours had cut back at work, it seemed Mr. Fisk needed him to find more and more people, each one with more urgency then the last. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful though, so he caught the criminals without complaint. He looked back to make sure Dr. Ohnn was fully engrossed in his project before opening the message. Peter winced. Two targets this time. The first was a human trafficker named John Pearson. He was the most normal looking guy Peter had ever been asked to catch. He had healthy-looking, tanned skin, brown hair and eyes, and a little scruff on his face. Everything about him was average, making it easier for him to blend into a crowd. Peter scowled as he read about the guy, frustrated that he’d have to deliver him to Mr. Fisk instead of the cops. The Devil was going after these guys pretty hardcore lately. Peter got frequent alerts on his phone about the Devil’s activity, and it seemed like he was targeting a lot of traffickers. Peter really couldn’t blame him. These guys kidnapped people, then sold them. They were the worst kind of awful.

The second guy—Ludwig Carson—looked particularly nasty. He was a large, beast of a man with a thick, dark, tangled mane of hair and a bushy beard. Amidst all the hair on his face were two dark, beady eyes. He was a weapons dealer. Those were never fun. Peter almost always got shot at.

Peter _hated_ guns. They made him think of Ben; how the man stumbled back into their kitchen counter, and how he stared at Peter, a little dumbfounded as the boy pressed his hands against Ben’s stomach, trying fruitlessly to keep his blood inside instead of out. Guns sent a livewire up his spine and along his nerve endings before they were even cocked. He knew how dangerous they were, even for him, despite his enhancements. He had always been faster (so far) than the guys shooting at him, but it still stressed him out like nothing else. Every time he heard a gunshot go off in a closed space, he saw Ben’s face, glassy eyes pointed at him, but seeing nothing. It was awful.

Peter shook himself as he heard a loud thud. He realized he dropped his phone on the table because of how violently his hands were shaking.

“Everything alright?” Peter whirled around and saw Dr. Ohnn quirk a blonde eyebrow at him. “Peter?” he stepped forward and Peter flinched back a little, struggling to find air. Dr. Ohnn was opening and closing his mouth, obviously saying something, but Peter could not hear anything beyond the rush of blood in his ears. Dr. Ohnn approached again, and Peter felt himself sliding to the floor. His vision narrowed and he pressed himself against the leg of the table, staring at his hands. They were red. Were they supposed to be? Where was Ben? He had to keep pressure on the wound. If he could just hold on a little longer—

_Mr. Parker, I need you to breathe with me._

Peter shook his head. His hands were dirty—bloody. There were stains that wouldn’t come off. Or maybe he didn’t want them to come off… wasn’t this all that was left of Ben?

_“You can do it, Mr. Parker. In and out. Do you know where you are?”_

Of course Peter knew where he was. He was—wait wasn’t he in his kitchen? No—no he was in the lab. The lab at school? Why were his hands still red? He washed them. He scrubbed them raw after he trapped that awful monster that tore his family apart _again—_

“Peter,” Peter’s eyes locked onto the blue, bespectacled ones in front of him and he felt his hand being pressed firmly against something warm and hard and _alive._ “With me. In one-two-three,” Peter felt the chest beneath his hand expand, “out one-two-three,” then contract. The pattern lined up with the words and repeated over and over until the spots that were dancing over Peter’s eyes started to fade out.

Mr. Wesley’s face became startlingly clear in front of his own. They were crouched together on the floor of Dr. Ohnn’s lab, and Peter felt cool, wet trails against his cheeks. “Mr. Wesley?” he asked, quiet and confused.

Mr. Wesley sighed and released his hand. “You were having some kind of anxiety attack, Peter. Possibly a flashback,” Peter gaped at him before he wiped at his eyes. “Has that ever happened before?” Peter shook his head. He didn’t even know what brought that on—he’d thought about Ben and how he died lots of times. Nothing like this had ever occurred.

“I-I don’t know what happened, Mr. Wesley,” he panted, eyes wide. Mr. Wesley shushed him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder to help ground him.

“You’re alright. Just keep breathing.” Peter did just that, breathing in deeply and releasing his breath slowly until his heartrate slowed down to a much safer pace. “Are you with me now, Peter?” Peter nodded, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Peter opened his mouth, then shook his head. It was too close to the surface, right now. “That’s alright. I’ve called Frederick for you. He’s waiting out front. I know I just sent those messages, but you don’t need to approach those targets until you are calm, and your mind is clear. Mr. Fisk has stressed the importance these men hold for him, and so I want to express that same importance to you. There can be no mistakes in their capture. Do you understand, Mr. Parker?” Peter nodded. He suddenly realized that Mr. Wesley was using his given name during his panic attack, and now he was upset at hearing his last name again. Mr. Wesley and Mr. Fisk both used his first name sparingly. He wasn’t sure if it was because it was too important for them to throw it around lightly, or if it was because they wanted to create and maintain some professional distance. Either way, it was starting to bother him, a little. Maybe he was doing something wrong.

“It’s okay, Mr. Wesley. I can—I mean, it’s important, right?” Mr. Wesley had labeled the targets as “urgent.”

“Mr. Parker,” Mr. Wesley began, shaking his head.

“I’m _fine._ Really, I am. I don’t know what came over me. I can find them. May works late, tonight, and I brought my suit with me, so really, there’s no better time. Freddy doesn’t have to take me home. I’ll just grab my dinner and start patrolling.”

Mr. Wesley eyed him warily. “If you’re sure…”

“Absolutely, Mr. Wesley.”

Mr. Wesley sighed and shook his head before pulling out his phone and sending a quick message. “Alright. I’ve told Frederick that you’re going to be working late with me. Let’s find you some food so you can start.”

Three hours and half a sandwich later (Peter was pretty queasy after that panic attack), Peter wished he listened to Mr. Wesley as he chased down Ludwig the Weapons Dealer.

_Ludwig. That just sounds like a bad guy’s name,_ he thought as he vaulted over a dumpster and onto the wall so he could crawl and swing after the bearded menace. _Seriously, his options are seedy criminal, or brilliant composer, and it’s not like people are looking to hire composers on the regular._ The teenager’s stomach rebelled against him, and it took everything in him to keep pushing until he finally cornered the guy. “Nowhere else to go, buddy,” he panted, dropping down in front of him. The man screamed and charged at him, causing Peter to flinch and back up in alarm. No one had ever done that before. Suddenly, he found himself shoved into the street, madly dodging swerving cars. He was mostly successful, only having been tapped by a couple of vehicles. Unfortunately, he was thrown into the path of an oncoming semi, and after a heavy impact to his back he managed to cling to the grill until he could throw a web out to a nearby building. Peter groaned, hunching over. That hurt. He shifted back and forth a little, wincing at the movement, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t broken anything. The truck was moving pretty slowly. Peter spun back around. A short distance away from him he saw a crowd of people. He swung himself back across the street to a tall building that overlooked the commotion and frowned at what he saw. Ludwig the Weapons Dealer _also_ managed to stumble into traffic, but judging by the mess, he was not nearly so lucky. Peter found himself blinking back unexpected tears. He killed someone. _Oh shit,_ he killed someone. He backed away from the edge of the roof and pulled off his mask before calling Mr. Wesley in a blind panic. As soon as the man answered, Peter spilled everything that happened, fear of the situation rising to the point where he was almost certain all that came out of his mouth was gibberish. Mr. Wesley waited until Peter stopped speaking before giving him instructions to head to Fisk Tower and to enter through the roof access door. Peter replaced his mask and started swinging, constantly replaying the gruesome imagery in his head. After swinging for twenty minutes he arrived at his destination.   
  


Peter snuck in through the unlocked door (most likely courtesy of Mr. Wesley) and crept along the ceiling through the darkened halls of the top floor until he reached Mr. Fisk's office. He dropped down, looked down each side of the hallway and knocked. The time and action did little to calm him. All he could see was that bloody, visceral mess Ludwig left behind. The door opened and Mr. Wesley gestured for him to come in. As soon as the door shut behind him Peter ripped his mask off, trying to breathe. Mr. Wesley must have seen something on his face because the next thing Peter knew, he was sitting down with a small trash can in his hands, vomiting into it. Mr. Wesley sat beside him, pressing a warm hand against his back.  
  


Peter was absently aware of a door opening and closing and the murmur of conversation somewhere beyond the buzzing in his ears.  
  


"Mr. Parker," that was Mr. Wesley. Calm, cool, collected. His voice was soothing, like a balm on a nasty burn. "What happened?" Peter still wasn't sure. All he knew for certain was that Ludwig had bled out on the concrete below him.  
  


"Oh God," Peter whined out, pressing his hands against his face and rocking back and forth. "Oh _God,_ I killed him, Mr. Wesley. I killed him, _oh my God—"_  
  


"What?" That was not Mr. Wesley. The voice was sharp and raspy and grated on his ears, making him flinch.   
  


"Sir, please." Why was Mr. Wesley whispering? Didn't he know that when Peter's senses were dialed up like this it wouldn't make a difference if he was whispering or shouting? Or maybe he _had_ shouted, and Peter was so fogged over he couldn't tell. Everything was spinning out of control. "Mr. Parker—Peter, are you with me?" Yes, Peter was with him, or at least he could hear him. He must have given some kind of assent, because Mr. Wesley rubbed slow circles against his back. "Breathe with me. Just like in the lab today. In one-two-three, out one-two-three."  
  


Slowly— _very_ slowly—Peter felt his body come back under his control. The dim light of the office filtered through his senses, revealing deep red carpeting and dark wooden furniture. He was sitting on a black leather couch that creaked every time he or Mr. Wesley shifted. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a thick arm and torso. He looked up to see Mr. Fisk staring down at him. In the low light of the office, it almost looked like the entrepreneur was glaring at him. Peter shivered, trying to blink the wetness out of his eyes. 

"Mr. Parker," he rasped, and Peter recoiled a little at the harshness of his tone. "What did you mean? Who did you kill?" Peter whimpered and shook his head, not sure if he could answer. "Mr. Parker!" The giant barked, making Peter flinch. Mr. Fisk was never that mean to him before. "This is important. I need to know what happened."  
  


Ice flooded Peter's veins and he shivered, violently. "I-I didn't mean it," he whimpered, hunching in on himself. "He pushed me into the street.... He ran at me and I couldn't dodge him, but he must have tripped after me—"  
  


"Who, Mr. Parker. _Who?"_ Mr. Fisk leaned closer and wrapped his hand around Peter's shoulder, and for a second the boy thought the man meant to shale the answer out of him. He stilled very suddenly and held his breath until he figured the hand was probably meant to ground him and prevent him from spiraling into another panic attack.  
  


"I—Ludwig. The weapons guy," Peter whispered.   
  


Mr. Fisk stared at him thoughtfully, then released his shoulder and stepped away. Peter felt Mr. Wesley relax at his side. He didn't realize how tense the man had become.  
  


"Mr. Parker—"  
  


"Oh God, Mr. Fisk, I didn't mean it! I didn't mean to kill him—"  
  


"Be quiet." Peter instantly shut his mouth, staring at Mr. Fisk with wide eyes. The man didn't sound mean, like before, but he was still stern. "It doesn't sound like you've killed anyone." Peter opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to think of what to say. Wasn't Mr. Fisk listening?  
  


"Mr. Parker," Mr. Wesley said softly, "it sounds like you never even laid a hand on that man. In fact, it seems like it was his own stupidity that got him killed."   
  


Peter shook his head. "No. No, if I hadn't gone after him, he never would have—"  
  


"Is it a doctor's fault if a patient refuses treatment?" Mr. Wesley pressed.  
  


"No, but that's not the same thing!"  
  


"Very well. Is it a police officer's fault if a suspect kills himself during pursuit?"   
  


"Of course not—"  
  


"Then why is it yours?" Peter blinked, momentarily stunned. "Put a police officer in your exact position, Mr. Parker. Would you blame him for Mr. Carson's death?" Peter mulled over the idea before slowly shaking his head.  
  


"Mr. Parker," Mr. Fisk said, lowly. Peter turned to face him. "I am," he paused, searching for the right word, "saddened to hear of Mr. Carson's untimely end," Peter sank further back into the couch, trying to escape the disappointment and quiet anger that overtook Mr. Fisk's features. "But circumstances were well beyond your control. I only ask that you are more careful with Mr. Pearson."  
  


"Sir?" Peter didn't understand. How could they be talking about Pearson when the weapons guy had just become hamburger on the street?  
  


"This mistake may not have been your fault, but it was still a mistake," Mr. Fisk said firmly, "and I cannot tolerate another. Do you understand me?"  
  


Peter trembled under that steady gaze. Apparently, whatever happened to Ludwig was unimportant now. The boy swallowed and nodded his head, then cleared his throat at the raised eyebrow that was being levelled at him. "Yes, sir."  
  


"Good. Now I know it's starting to get late, but I really must insist that you locate Mr. Pearson as soon as you can. It is imperative that I see him as soon as possible, especially considering your earlier mishap." Peter felt his face flush as shame filled him. They may not have blamed him for Ludwig’s death, but he certainly felt responsible. He also hated the look of disappointment Mr. Fisk had given him. It made his insides turn to lead.

“Sir,” Mr. Wesley began, somewhat earnestly. “Mr. Parker has had a rather trying day—is it absolutely necessary for him to locate—”

“Wesley,” Mr. Fisk said sharply, “you know precisely how necessary this is.”

“He’s right, Mr. Wesley. I’m so sorry, Mr. Fisk,” Peter said, twisting his hands together. “I’ll find Mr. Pearson. I’ll find him tonight,” he said, adamantly. He couldn’t bear that upset, troubled expression on Mr. Fisk’s face. After everything the man did for him, finding this Pearson character was the least Peter could do.

“Thank you, Mr. Parker. Wesley, make sure he gets out unseen.”

“Yes, sir,” Mr. Wesley said with a sigh, leading Peter out of the room. Peter replaced his mask and followed Mr. Wesley back to the roof, hanging back around corners and in alcoves the few times others had crossed their path.

They made it back to the rooftop, and Peter readied himself to swing away. Mr. Wesley stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Mr. Parker,” he began. Peter turned to look at him. “Please tread lightly. Pearson is tricky, and difficult to find. I cannot stress how important it is to Mr. Fisk that you retrieve him.”

Peter shook his head. “I understand, Mr. Wesley. But, why does Mr. Fisk think this guy is so important? He kidnaps people. And sells them. Part of me kind of wants the Devil to find him before me,” Peter said with a wince. Mr. Wesley frowned, eyebrows creasing. “I don’t mean—it’s just, I don’t know how Mr. Fisk thinks he can be reformed. I’d rather take him straight to the police.”

“Mr. Parker, do not disobey Mr. Fisk’s wishes under any circumstances. The results would be—dire. Please, don’t listen to whatever Pearson has to say to you, and don’t let your own judgements and biases govern your actions. There is a very important reason Mr. Fisk wants you to deliver Pearson to him, the details of which I cannot give you.” Peter sighed at hearing this. “I am most serious. Please do as you’re told. Are you sure you’re alright? That you’re able to do this?”

Peter nodded firmly. He wouldn’t mess up again. Mr. Wesley nodded his head in return, and Peter leapt off the roof, swinging downtown with a vengeance. Before he happened upon Ludwig the Weapons Guy, he was on a really good trail for Pearson. The crooks he ran into had no qualms giving away his secrets, seeing as his main targets were _their_ family members. Poor people disappear a lot easier than wealthy people, and they’re not looked for near as hard or as long. Peter knew the last place he was operating was an abandoned factory in the industrial district. Peter made his way there in record time. Peter figured his luck would run out here. He had heard from several people that Pearson was coming to get some last, crucial pieces of evidence out of the way that tied him to the operation, and that was at least an hour ago. Most likely the man would be long gone.

Surprisingly, his luck held. When he got to the factory, he not only _saw_ Pearson, but the man _didn’t_ see him. He didn’t even hear him come in. Peter creeped into the factory, sneaking along the walls and up the ceiling until he was just above the man. Pearson was tucking some paper documents into a manila envelope, completely engrossed in his task. Stealthily, Peter pressed his hand forward and shot a web at the man’s hands before dropping down from the ceiling after the crook let out a startled yell. While the man was stunned at his sudden appearance, Peter quickly webbed him up, wrapping him in a cocoon of sticky, durable, manufactured spider silk. Satisfied with his work, he pushed the man down to the floor and started to pull out his phone. After all that had happened, Pearson’s capture felt pretty anticlimactic. Peter knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth, though.

“Man, you definitely messed up,” he said, scrolling through his contacts. “Kidnapping people? Stealing kids? That’s pretty low, but selling them after?” Peter whistled. “All your crook buddies gave you away so quick, it felt like I was getting a deal downtown on Black Friday,” he shrugged a little at the lack of response, eyeing Pearson as much as the man was eyeing him. “Because you know, they’re really good, but they disappear before you can get your hands on them unless you deck someone?” Peter was met with silence. He sighed and rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, you’re right. Not my best line. It’s been a long day, though, dude. Cut me some slack.”

“Do you work for Kingpin?” the man asked suddenly. Peter sighed. If he heard Kingpin’s name one more time, he was going to lose it.

“Who’s asking?” he responded, recalling Aaron’s nonchalance when he asked the man about the elusive baddie.

“I’ve heard that the rumors are wrong—please, Spider, it’s important.”

“Spider-Man,” Peter said, finally getting Mr. Wesley’s contact card up. His thumb hovered over the green call icon.

“Spider-Man,” the man allowed, scooting towards him on his butt. Peter signed and looked down at him, shaking his head.

“Look, man. I don’t owe you anything. I don’t have to _tell_ you anything. I don’t have to give you _shit,_ ” he said, venomously. “Because you know what? _You’re_ the one who snatches people right off the street, and that makes you a whole new kind of low. But I’m _real_ sick of hearing crooks asking me if I work for an even bigger crook. So to answer your question, no. I don’t work for Kingpin. I know absolutely nothing about him, except that he is apparently a bigger dick than you. Happy?”

“You really don’t work for him?”

Peter stared at him. The man recoiled slightly, and Peter wondered how villains must really see him in his mask. He got the feeling he cut a somewhat menacing picture, considering the reactions he got. “No. I don’t work for anyone but me,” he replied. It was mostly true.

“Spider-Man, you’ve got to help me!” the man begged. Peter let out a startled laugh. “Please, _please_ Spider-Man. I just want to get my family out. You’ve got to believe me!” Peter shook his head, incredulous. “Listen, man, please. Listen. I work for the Ranskahovs! The Smiley Twins! They’re the ones who actually run this racket, and I just got caught up in it! I owed Kingpin a favor, and I couldn’t get out!”

Peter paused, lowering his phone. “Wait, you know who he is?”

“Not—I mean—no one says his name, but I can tell you everything I know!”

Peter shook his head and let out a little chuckle, feeling light-headed. It had been a long day. When he got home, he would need to check for any serious bleeding, and probably eat a ton of leftovers. “Yeah, you sure sound like you know a lot.”

“I’ll tell the police everything, Spider-Man. I’ll confess to everything. I’ll tell them everything I know about the Kingpin and the Smiley Twins! Please, just let me call my wife to tell her to leave now, please. She hasn’t done anything. She doesn’t know anything, I swear to God, please.” The man was sniveling, trying to hold back tears. Peter watched him for a minute, thinking about what Mr. Fisk and Mr. Wesley said. Ultimately, they told him not to make the same mistake as before, right? To not put Fisk’s friend in danger? He was willing to turn himself in, and Mr. Fisk had always talked about how he wanted to talk to these guys to help them reform, then turn them in himself. It seemed like delivering him to Mr. Fisk was an unnecessary extra step. If Aaron was right and Kingpin _did_ have some weird control over the city, he imagined Pearson probably had a hard time going against the crime lord’s wishes.

Peter sighed and opened the dial pad on his phone. “What’s her number?”

Pearson thanked him profusely and gave him the number, then waited patiently for her to answer Spider-Man’s call. Peter left the phone on speaker and listened to vague instructions and a worried _I love you_ from the woman on the other end of the line. Duty done, Peter hung up his phone and brought Pearson to the nearest precinct, leaving him webbed up outside with a note that told the police to ask for his confession. Peter waited around to hear it, too, and watched as the man admitted to his crimes while the police brought him inside.

Wearily, Peter made his way back to Fisk Tower. He went inside—through an unlocked window in Dr. Ohnn’s lab—and walked over to the place he stashed his clothes, wincing with every step. He was pretty sure his bones were creaking, and he was thankful the eccentric scientist was nowhere in sight. After he changed, he bundled his suit into a small, secret pouch he had in his messenger bag. He slung the bag over his shoulder and tiredly made his way down the elevator and out of the lobby of the building. He frowned as he glanced at the time. It was late. Or early, depending on your point of view. School was going to be a nightmare tomorrow—er—later today. As he crossed through the double doors, he saw a familiar town car parked out front. Peter winced. He should have known they would have noticed he hadn’t called before going back into the building.

The door popped open and Mr. Wesley got out, frowning at Peter. Peter sighed and geared up to defend his actions.

“Get in the car, Mr. Parker. We have much to discuss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Writing Notes:  
> 1\. The Melt Shop is a real sandwich shop with several locations in New York. I have never been anywhere near there, but google seemed to give good reviews, so why not?
> 
> 2\. I love Ned. Ned Leeds is the best bro. Also, guys... Firefly is almost 20 years old. _Firefly_ is almost _20 years old._ Yeesh, I feel old. _"Back in my day..."_ At the time this story takes place, Firefly is probably around the same age as Peter and Ned, so to them, it would be an older show. And since they're the best kind of nerdy, they'd have to find it, watch it, and commiserate over the swift ending it was given. This is my headcanon. 
> 
> 3\. So, a lot of times in my experience, people without money are judged pretty harshly by people with money. Peter is from a working class household. He's brilliant, he does well, but I think his peers (since it's made pretty obvious that they are much wealthier.... did anyone _else_ see Liz Allen's house or Flash's car?) see his clothes, hear his background, and brush him off. Therefore, he surprises them when he doesn't fit in the neat little box they have for him. We wouldn't see this as much in other versions of Spider-Man. He's always gone to a public school which has your mixed variety of wealthy-middle class-poor families, but in Homecoming he's at a pretty prestigious school. Now, granted, this could be a very selective public school, like the Bronx School of Science. However, we have to take into account that most of the kids who are getting into this school have to prep and prep and prep. This means learning how to take a test. Which often means parents paying for classes/tutors to help prepare for this, taking practice tests (which also cost money), etc. etc. You probably get all walks of life, but *most* of those paths will likely be similar to each other, which will most likely have a touch more wealth then Peter does. In *this* story, however, Midtown is a private school. There is tuition. There are fees. Petey-pie has a scholarship and he's surrounded by rich kids. Let's just go with it. ;-)
> 
> 4\. I had _no idea_ what Academic Decathlon was. I didn't know it was a real thing. When I looked it up, I was a little blown away. It looks _intense_. 
> 
> 5\. Peter doesn't know his triggers. Why would he? He's 14. He's not looking into PTSD. He may disassociate or flashback again. He will most likely have panic attacks in the future. I was not originally going to go this route (it was going to be very off-screen), but it didn't feel true to his character to not include this, considering the crap he goes through on the daily (and what I'm going to put him through.... Oh, that was ominous). 
> 
> 6\. Mr. Wesley's role is pretty interesting, isn't it? And see how Fisk is starting to show his true nature, now that Peter is so wrapped up in what a "good guy" he is? Abusers work in sneaky ways like that. 
> 
> 7\. Dun-dun-dun. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. Please leave a comment or Kudos! They're like sunshine on a cloudy day. When it's cold outside, Kudos-and-comments are like the month of May. ;-)
> 
> Follow me on my tumblr! I can answer questions about my stories, post random fun tidbits, and possibly take requests (I haven't gotten one yet. I promise I won't _shame_ anyone. I may not write it because it's a bit much for me, personally, but I won't judge. ;-) Come see me [@hanuko.](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Mr. Wesley have a talk.
> 
> It doesn't end the way Peter was expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am 100% on time again! Posting on a Sunday! (Pacific Northwest! It's still the 18th over here!). I'm so proud of myself.
> 
> You *may* need to suspend your disbelief for this chapter. See fun writing notes #3 for more info. :-)
> 
> Oof there's a TRIGGER WARNING. I'm gonna put it in the end notes so I don't spoil anything. If you have triggers that relate AT ALL to the tags listed please take heed. Things got a little crazy. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“Sir, I really just want to go home—”

“Get in the car.”

“Why? What’d I do wrong? I caught the guy—”

“Mr. Parker.” Mr. Wesley’s tone brokered no argument. Peter sighed, gingerly sliding into the vehicle. After he was settled, he tugged at the cuffs of his jacket. Mr. Wesley got in after him and pulled the door shut. Peter stared at the carpeted floor of the limousine, frowning under the scrutiny he received from his fellow passenger. Finally after he couldn’t stand it anymore, he looked up, clenching his hands into fists.

“What?”

Mr. Wesley stared at him for another few heartbeats before he carefully reached up and knocked three times on the partition behind him. The familiar zing of danger crept up Peter’s spine, but he ignored it as he often did when he was with the man. The car started moving and Peter leaned back against the seat with a sigh. “I don’t understand what I did wrong,” he said quietly, twisting his hands together. Mr. Wesley raised an eyebrow. “Seriously! I caught him! Not only did I catch him, but he said he’d tell the police everything, and he actually _did!_ I heard him as the cops brought him in. It’s gonna be a full confession, he’s in jail, Mr. Fisk has less he has to deal with—”

“What _our employer_ has to deal with is not your concern.” Wesley said, sharply, causing Peter to bite his tongue. “You had explicit instructions to deliver Mr. Pearson to us directly.”

“Yeah, I know, but—”

Mr. Wesley cut him off. “When Mr. Fisk or I give you explicit instructions, you are to follow them. Is that clear?” Peter frowned and looked away. “Well?” Mr. Wesley demanded, leaning forward.

“Yes, sir,” Peter mumbled. Once he was still, he could feel the way the night had worn him down. His whole body felt like a giant bruise. He winced every time the car jostled him; however subtle it was. Getting knocked around by those cars was not pleasant. He had the feeling he may have fractured a bone or two, but he had no way of knowing without going to the hospital, which wasn’t an option. It didn’t matter. They’d heal up soon, just like always.

Mr. Wesley’s phone rang. He answered quickly. “Wesley,” he said monotonously, still staring at Peter. “Yes sir? Yes sir, I have him. I’m speaking to him now. Of course. I’ll do that—I’ll take care of it.” Wesley pulled the phone away from his face and tapped the screen to hang up, then replaced it in his pocket.

“What did Mr. Fisk—"

“What did you think you were doing?” Mr. Wesley cut him off.

Peter flushed, angry at the accusatory tone. “I did my job! I did what I’m supposed to do!” he said, looking at Mr. Wesley head on. His own face was reflected back at him in the lenses Mr. Wesley wore on his face. “I don’t know what happens to the crooks that I bring you guys, I never hear anything about them again! I don’t know if they get away, or get rehabilitated, or get brought to the police, but this guy—he _knows_ things. He knows about Kingpin! I couldn’t risk it. He said he’d confess everything he knew about the guy, and the more the police know, the better!” Peter exclaimed. “Maybe now they can actually let the public know and we can do something about him.”

“I see,” Mr. Wesley leaned back, calm façade in place once more. Peter seethed. Between Mr. Wesley’s nonchalant expression, the aches running through his body, and the headache his spider-sense brought on, he was extremely irritated. “So you ignored direct orders because, what, you thought you knew better?” Wesley folded his hands in his lap and cocked his head, examining the teenager and making Peter fidget. “You thought this was the only way to see justice done.” Peter nodded slowly. “You didn’t want this man to slip away, right?” Peter nodded again. “Because you wanted to make sure he gave the police what they needed to go after a much bigger fish, and him rotting in lockup for human trafficking was icing on the cake, right?”

“Mr. Wesley, he was a monster. He told me he had to do it because of the Kingpin, but he… he took _kids—"_

“I am quite aware of what he did, Mr. Parker.” Mr. Wesley’s eyes pierced through him, his gaze like ice. Peter felt a chill in his chest. “I know of what kind of sick ways Mr. Pearson tried to make money, and believe me, it is one of the many reasons our employer wanted to deal with this issue himself.” Mr. Wesley sighed, shaking his head a little. “I regret to inform you that your plan did not work the way you intended.”

Peter straightened up at that. He had been to enough police stations with Mr. Wesley to know he could ask about pretty much any criminal in holding and get an answer. “What? Of course it did. He confessed,” he said, confidence wavering.

Mr. Wesley nodded once. “Yes. He did.” Peter let out a relieved breath. “But not on paper. He committed suicide in his cell before any of the police officers there could get a signed confession about what he knew, or what he had done.”

Peter felt very cold, as if all the blood was draining away from his body. “W-what?”

“I don’t think I need to repeat myself.”

“That—what?” Peter whispered, shaking his head and wringing his hands. “But… but how?”

“Hung himself with his bedsheet while the guards were otherwise occupied.” Mr. Wesley looked at Peter sadly. “Mr. Parker. Don’t you understand how this system works?” Peter started blinking, shock filling him. He was the only link Peter had to Kingpin—the only way they could start getting information out so he could pick up a trail, and suddenly he was dead.

Peter shook his head. “But—he swore,” he said, somewhat childishly. “He—he _swore_ he’d tell—"

“He was a criminal, Mr. Parker. Criminals lie.”

“No!” Peter cut off the assistant, slapping his hand against the seat. “No, that didn’t happen. That _couldn’t_ have happened, there was no time!” Peter had _just_ gotten him to the precinct. There was no way he could have been processed in time for a cell. “He would have gone to holding first… there aren’t beds in holding, so there aren’t sheets! There’s no way—"

“Due to the severity of his crime, and his particular targets, the officers there deemed that it would be safer to give him a private cell. They feared the others in lockup might hurt him,” Mr. Wesley shook his head and scoffed, “for all the good that did them.”

“No,” Peter whispered.

“Yes, Mr. Parker, and if you had just _listened_ and done as you were told, our employer would be dealing with Mr. Pearson, and perhaps he would have gotten the information you were so desperately seeking.” Peter covered his mouth with his hands. “Instead after the events of the night, two men are dead.” Pete could hear what was unsaid. _Because you screwed up._

Guilt was twisting hot and sharp in his abdomen. His chest constricted and he tried to take a deep breath through his nose. He didn’t think his body could handle it if he had another panic attack. Slowly, as air filled his lungs and oxygen made its way to his brain, those same puzzle pieces shone brightly in Peter’s mind. The pieces that just wouldn’t fit together. The story Mr. Wesley was telling didn’t add up. Kingpin’s name came up like a whisper in the dark, and was somehow tied to Spider-Man. Even though Peter didn’t find many who knew of the crime boss, the ones he did find were utterly silent on the matter, until Pearson. He was the first guy who was willing to confess _anything_ about the Kingpin.

_“He’s everywhere though, man. Practically has the city in his pocket. He’s got all kinds of crooks working for him, from the top of the food chain to the bottom, and they’re all loyal to him.”_ Aaron told him that. At the time, Peter was certain he meant _actual_ criminals: drug lords, weapons dealers, burglars—but what if he was saying something else? What if he was talking about the unknown villains? Like dirty cops, or shady lawyers? What if those were the kinds of people the engineer meant? The Kingpin could probably have all kinds of people to do his bidding.

_“There’s usually a reason for loyalty, and with Kingpin, there could be lots of reasons.”_ Peter could see it, too. Money delivered to a congressman as some kind of campaign donation. A cop trying to protect his family from an unseen but deadly threat. A kid who made a mistake, but was given a second chance—

Peter swallowed. _No. No way,_ he thought as he glanced up at Mr. Wesley, wondering again about his ever-present spider-sense. It always tingled in his presence, and in Mr. Fisk’s presence, too. The man was made of money—he could easily buy off a ton of people so he could operate, and what kind of business mogul wants to save _criminals?_ The man did so much good though. His charities had helped so many people in the city, including him and May. How could Mr. Fisk be some kind of mob boss? In every mafia movie he ever saw everyone _knew_ who the boss was. This wasn’t like that at all.

Then again, those were movies, not real life, and wasn’t Michelle always telling him about how the media lied to them all the time? That it sensationalized the wrong things on purpose so people would be oblivious sheep? May was always telling him that he had good instincts and should trust them. Hell, his own body told him every time something was about to kill him.

Maybe his body was trying to tell him something about Mr. Fisk all along.

Peter swallowed, shifting and wincing in pain again. “Mr. Wesley,” he croaked and cleared his throat. “I don’t think Pearson was brought to the private cell because the guards were trying to protect him.” Mr. Wesley raised an eyebrow at him. The car stopped moving. “I-I-I think they were the o-ones that killed him,” he clenched his hands tightly together to stop their trembling. A small part of him was shouting, begging him to shut his mouth, walk away, and not to look back, but it was washed out by a louder voice. A voice that reminded him of all the good and generous things he was given. A voice that reminded him that he was comforted and possibly cared for by the person he was thinking these ill thoughts of. How could someone as kind and charitable as Mr. Fisk possibly be a notorious criminal? Peter needed some kind of confirmation to quell it. “I think—I think they’re on Kingpin’s payroll.”

Mr. Wesley merely stared at him with his brows quirked in a questioning way. Peter swallowed again.

“I think Mr. Fisk knows more about the Kingpin, and the people on his payroll, then you’ve been letting on.” Because that was it, wasn’t it? Ultimately? Every guy he targeted was on Kingpin’s list. The Devil was exceedingly volatile with his brand of justice, but the only criminals Mr. Fisk cared about were people who were afraid of the Kingpin. Mr. Fisk knew their movements way before anyone else. Mr. Fisk was the one who spoke to them, rehabilitated them, _took care of them_ —Peter just hadn’t realized what he meant before now.

“And I think that you and I might be on that payroll, too.”

Mr. Wesley let out a sigh and reached his hand into his jacket. Suddenly, Peter’s spider-sense flared sharply, distinctly noticeable from the dull buzz he had been feeling the whole time in the car. The world slowed down as he saw a hint of leather beneath the coat and a glint of silver sliding away from Mr. Wesley’s body. Peter reacted instantly, diving towards the door and pulling the latch to let himself out as he heard the crack of a gunshot in close quarters. The smell of ozone hit his flared nostrils, shooting a new wave of panic up his spine as he leaped from the car to the world outside, only to crash into something hard and heavy and white. His spider-sense was still screaming at him, lighting his nerves on fire as he felt a vice-like squeeze around his arms. The world spun and his back slammed down against something hard and jagged. He blinked, a little stunned that he could hurt so _badly_ , and stuttered as he tried to draw breath. As he struggled, a dark shadow loomed over him and he stared up into the face of Mr. Fisk.

The face of an _angry_ Mr. Fisk.

The scowl marred his features in such a shocking way that Peter momentarily forgot he needed to get away. A thick, heavy fist crashed into his nose, and he felt a sickening squish and crack across his face. Something warm and wet was gushing out of his nose, and he breathed in sharply, choking on the coppery fluid that was suddenly in his mouth. The fist came again twice more before Peter remembered to fight back. He jerked away, instinctively pressing his fingers where his webshooters would be if he were in his suit, hesitant to strike back with his legs or fists. Mr. Fisk grabbed his face and pulled his head away from the ground below him, slamming it down three times in quick succession. Peter was dazed, unsure of how to move as blows were rained upon his torso and face. Weakly he brought his hands up to try to protect his head, and he heard a terrible pop as his wrist was twisted too sharply and too far. His world went white for a moment then dark, and all he knew was the sound of flesh beating flesh, followed by what he was certain was pain that wouldn’t register correctly. His vision cleared momentarily as Mr. Fisk drew back, and he sucked in a deep breath and gagged on the wetness trickling down his throat. As he moved to cough, he felt a solid weight pressing into his throat, obstructing his airway. His eyes bulged as he took in Mr. Fisk, seeing the man grit his teeth angrily as he stared down at Peter, meaty hands wrapped around his neck. The boy’s blood was splattered over his face and jacket. Peter jerked and twitched, trying to make his useless body move unsuccessfully. He couldn’t breathe—he was being _choked to death._ Peter felt a sharp spike of pain lance through his head as panic shot through him. His world greyed around the edges, and Mr. Fisk became nothing more then a flesh colored blur above him, backlit by amber streetlamps. Peter felt his heart beating frantically in his chest and in his ears, feeling his blood rush all over his body. Everything faded out. His world went dark again, and the last thing he knew was the sound of Wilson Fisk screaming in rage.

* * *

Peter startled and winced, feeling his body being jostled and moved. His eyes opened, and he realized he was being pulled from the limo.

When did he get back to the limo?

_Did I even leave the limo?_

Peter’s body screamed in agony, from his face to the tips of his toes. That semi really did a number on him—

Wait, no, that wasn’t right.

Was it?

Because for some reason, all he could visualize was a thick, heavy fist being launched at his face again and again—

Peter gasped as his body was dumped against a brick wall. He vaguely realized he was near a dim streetlamp. A horrible, pulsing pain thrummed throughout his body and he suddenly gagged at the onslaught of sensation assaulting him. He felt like he could barely breathe. He coughed, feeling something congealed and wet slide from the back of his throat to his tongue, making him gag again until he managed to get the copper tasting thing out of his mouth. The boy let out a sob, unable to do much else. He was already in agony from the chase and his fiasco with the vehicles in the street from earlier. Now it was like every bruise on his body had been bruised again and again, repeatedly until his skin only held mush. He didn’t know he could hurt so _much_. He didn’t know just his _face_ could hurt so much. He jerked and looked around, crying out at the ache in his shoulders and neck. Finally, his eyes landed on the sharply dressed, bespectacled brunette looming over him.

Mr. Wesley regarded him coolly, face impassive. Peter felt tears slip out of his eyes. “P-please,” he whined. He needed help, and no one was going to come for him. The only person he could ask was right in front of him. The fact that the man tried to shoot him earlier didn't matter. “Please, Mr. Wesley. I—”

“Your phone is on the ground, Mr. Parker. Pick it up. Peter looked to the side and saw several things that were in his bag strewn around him. The bag itself, along with his wallet and spider-suit, was missing. He blinked and looked back up at Mr. Wesley, confused, but too hurt to ask what was going on. His old, cracked phone was lying on the ground beside him.

“Sir?” he croaked out.

“Pick up your phone,” Mr. Wesley repeated. Peter cringed as he carefully moved his arm to grab his phone. He slowly wrapped his fingers around the hard case, and he brought it to his lap. “Very good,” Mr. Wesley said. Peter cried harder at the gentle tone in his voice. “Can you see?” _Barely._ Peter nodded. “Alright. You have five people listed on your speed dial, right? Your aunt is one of them. I want you to call her.” Peter panicked, shaking his head. She had to stay away. It was dangerous. _He was dangerous—_

“Mr. Parker, I am not going to ask again.” Peter moved shaking fingers over the screen of his phone, and tears blurred his vision as his thumb hovered over the icon. “Now call her and ask for help.” Peter lifted his head, eyes wide. “That’s what you would do if I weren’t here. Go ahead.”

Peter shook his head again. “No, Mr. Wesley, please, don’t hurt her—”

“She will be fine if you do as I say. Can you do as I say?”

“Yes, sir,” Peter nodded his head as fresh tears streaked down his cheeks.

“Good. Call your aunt. Now.”

Peter’s fingers trembled as he pressed the _2_ on his dial pad. “Put it on speaker,” Mr. Wesley said. Peter did as he was told and awaited further instructions, in a daze from the pain. Peter wondered briefly if he was supposed to feel more cold than hurt.

“Again, Mr. Parker.” Peter dialed May again, hands shaking more violently than before. Again the phone went to voicemail. He let out a sob before he disconnected, knowing May probably wouldn’t have her phone until she got another break. Wesley told him, again and again, to keep dialing his aunt. Each time it went to her inbox and Peter felt his anxiety spiking higher and higher each time she missed a call. What if she never picked up? Would he die out here? Cold and miserable and _alone_? Mr. Wesley’s voice started to fade into the background as he tried to reach May for help. As he heard her recorded message over and over, he couldn’t seem to control the desperation he felt. Tears blocked his vision and sobs choked his voice and soon he was pleading with the voicemail, telling May he was hurt and scared and begging her to pick up, “Please May, _please_ pick up—"

“Now call me,” Mr. Wesley said, after the last time he disconnected the call.

“W-what?”

“I believe I am on your speed dial, too.” He was. Peter added him shortly after he began his internship, because of how much they had to talk to organize he schedule. “Call my phone, Mr. Parker. Keep it off speaker, this time.”

Peter stared at him with his mouth hanging open, not making a sound. Mr. Wesley raised an eyebrow at him and lifted his wrist to check his watch—a deliberate move on his part, urging Peter to hurry up or suffer the consequences. Peter pressed and held the _5_ on his dial pad. A moment after the ringing started in his speaker, he heard the buzzing of Mr. Wesley’s phone in his pocket. Mr. Wesley stared at him, face blank as he pulled the device out of his jacket. Peter heard the click of someone picking up through his own phone, and watched as Mr. Wesley placed his phone against his ear, still staring at Peter. “Wesley,” he said, masking his voice to make it sound rougher. He cleared his throat.

Peter opened and closed his mouth wordlessly. He swallowed, causing him to cough and gag into the receiver. Mr. Wesley pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment as a grimace of disgust flashed over his features. “Hello? Mr. Parker?”

Peter sobbed, almost certain the call was being recorded. According to Aaron, Mr. Fisk was notorious for this sort of thing. He never understood why until now. The last place Peter was seen was at Fisk Tower, in an area that normally didn’t attract muggers or criminals because of the busy streets and quick police response to many things reported. People in the company itself would be suspects for Peter’s disappearance due to the area they were in alone, but not if someone from there called him in missing and offered a recording of his call, crying for help. Mr. Wesley was going to kill him and this was his _alibi_. This covered Mr. Wesley’s tracks—if they were even being looked for in the first place. Peter stared at Mr. Wesley’s chest where he knew the holster to be, babbling words he wasn’t sure could be understood in any way. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to blink out of this world into nothingness. He begged for his life, not neatly, not prettily, but it was the best he could do, and he prayed to whatever God was listening that he would be spared.

“Mr. Parker, where are you? I can’t understand you—” Peter was suddenly dizzy and his hand fell away from his face, taking the phone away with it. The dark spots from before danced over his eyes and he moaned, feeling them fall closed against his wishes.

The world took on a surreal edge after that, flashes of dreams shined brightly through the periods of black. Mr. Wesley’s face close to his own while his free hand touched his face and chest in a firm, assessing way. A metallic ceiling with bright lights and two strangers bustling over him. The scrape of something hard lodging itself in his throat while he was forced to stare at a bright white ceiling in a well-let room. A warm, slightly weathered hand clutching his tightly. May’s voice delivering soft and soothing platitudes to his ear.

The pain woke him.

He moaned, shifting against something padded beneath him, and as he tried to swallow, he felt something _in_ his throat. He whined, sharply, lifting his hand so he could grab whatever was on his face and pull it out of his mouth, when he felt soft hands rubbing over his and gentle shushes.

“Peter, Peter baby it’s a ventilator. You can’t fight it, okay, just let it work. It’s okay—” he blinked at the sound and turned his head, whimpering when he saw May at his side. She looked haggard. Her hair was falling out of her ponytail in messy chunks all around her face. Her eyes were bloodshot behind her wire-gold glasses, and she had dark circles under them. She sniffled and offered him a small smile, and Peter felt tears slipping down his own face as he whined again. “I know it’s not comfortable, but you’re awake now and your oxygen levels look really good. It’s possible they will think you can breathe on your own now, okay? I just need you to be calm for me, baby. Can you do that?” Peter nodded and winced at the sharp pain that lanced throughout his body. “Are you hurting?” Peter nodded again, closing his eyes against the tears that couldn’t stop falling.

What even _happened?_

Peter was—he was leaving Fisk Tower. He left Fisk Tower and then—nothing. Was this all from that truck earlier? He’d never been hit like that before, and he avoided being hospitalized since before the bite. They were awful places. He sifted through his memories, trying to fill the blanks, frustrated that they were just out of reach. Peter heard two voices talking and cracked open his eyes to see his aunt talking to another nurse. He closed them again, sensitive to the bright lights in the room. Soon he felt a cool rush of relief and he sighed, sagging back into the bed. He didn’t even know he was tensing.

“—worried, May. He doesn’t seem tolerant of most treatments, and we’ve had to give him the maximum of several analgesics. He’s not responding well—”

“I know,” May said with a sigh. Peter opened his eyes again and squinted in the harsh light, finding his aunt with his eyes. She glanced back at him and scrunched her face when she saw his expression, then moved over to dim the lights. Peter let out a relieved noise as he opened his eyes more fully. May gave a watery chuckle and shooed the other nurse off before she returned to her seat. “Does that help, hon?” Peter nodded, blinking his eyes blearily. May held his hand again, running her thumb in gentle circles over it. “Good. Darlene went to get Dr. Snow. He’s been seeing to your recovery. Let’s… let’s see if Dr. Snow thinks it’s okay to take out the ventilator now.” She craned her head to the door and stood up. “I’ll be right back, sweetie, I’m just going to make sure he comes right away.” Peter’s eyes drooped as he watched her leave the room. His head was fuzzy, making his vision blurry again.

Again?

When did the room get so bright? May had just turned the lights down. He squinted when May appeared, holding his hand as a blurry figure reached around him. He heard the gentle cadence of his aunt’s voice, instructing him to relax and not fight the doctor. His eyes drifted shut and he felt a weird slide against his throat. It constricted automatically and his whole body tensed. Peter was choking on the tube in his throat. He felt the gentle hands of his aunt brushing against his neck and face and he relaxed again, wincing as the object slid out of his throat and mouth. He let out a cough and took a deep breath before trying to relax again. The ache was back, and he felt it increasing as sharp jabs throughout his chest, back, neck and face. He closed his eyes tightly and grit his teeth, trying to take even breaths.

“Peter? How do you feel?” that was a man’s voice. Peter shook his head as he felt a small warm hand—May again—holding his.

“Hurts—” he gritted out. “Hurts—May— _May_ it _hurts._ Please, make it stop,” the pain returned fully, a dull ache in his back and ribs, and a tight, hot squeeze at his chest and neck. His face was sore and extremely tender, and he could feel agonizing discomfort every time he moved. He couldn’t even open his mouth all the way. He had never been beaten up so badly before. Even when he got caught by that knife, he was only seriously hurt in _one_ place. This was a whole new level of awful for him.

“Honey, I’m so sorry. You’re not—your body isn’t reacting properly to the treatment,” she said, tearfully. Peter opened his eyes to a dim room again, seeing a man standing behind her. As the pain returned, everything came back into sharp focus. “We—this isn’t something that normally happens, but I know it has happened to some patients in the past. They’ve already given you the safest amount allowable—any more will make you sick.”

“I don’t care—May _please—”_

May shook her head and the doctor cleared his throat. “Peter,” he said calmly. “What we can do is offer you a sedative—that will hopefully be enough to allow you to sleep while we tackle this problem, okay?” Peter sniffled and nodded, and May gently brushed his curls out of his face. “I’ll have Darlene back here with the medicine in a moment,” he said quietly before he left the room. Peter tried to press his head into May’s touch, shivering. May adjusted his blanket, telling him she would ask the nurse for another when she came in.

“Honey, what happened?” she asked, quietly.

“I don’t—I’m not sure,” Peter whined. “I remember leaving the office, but I can’t—”

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m sorry, I know you’re in pain, honey. It’s okay if you don’t remember.” Peter shut his eyes as he heard a soft tapping, trying to focus on the feeling of gentle fingers in his hair instead of the throbbing pain all over his body.

“Mr. Wesley!” Peter’s eyes snapped open as May’s hand left his head. He tried to tilt his head up to look towards where the door must be, but the movement was too difficult in his current state. It was needless, in the end. Soon, Mr. Wesley stood next to his aunt, sharply dressed and put together as ever. Peter stared at the man, unsure why he was suddenly so nervous to see him. He saw his aunt speaking to him, glancing at Peter occasionally, but he was unable to make out the words over the angry buzzing in his ears. Soon the man ushered his aunt away from the bed, only to return alone a moment later. Peter’s eyes drifted to Mr. Wesley’s chest, and he wondered if his gun was holstered there again.

The gun.

Peter gasped and tried to jerk back, but found there was no where he could go. Tears started filling his eyes again as it all came back. Pearson’s mysterious death, Mr. Wesley’s lecture, and Mr. Wesley shooting at him right before Mr. Fisk—

Peter was going to be sick.

Mr. Wesley was quick, though. He had the blue, plastic bag under Peter’s mouth and a gentle hand under his head, helping him to sit up so he could vomit unhindered. He twitched and shuddered, knowing he had to rely on _this_ man for any kind of help while his aunt was away. Mr. Wesley rubbed gentle circles into his back as he heaved up nothing, the same as he did in Dr. Ohnn’s lab, and later in Mr. Fisk’s office. He trembled and shook his head, trying to lean away. Mr. Wesley immediately ceased his movement and pulled the bag from him, leaving his side to dispose of it. He came back and sat at the edge of the bed, staring at Peter and adjusting his glasses.

“Our employer doesn’t like giving lessons like this, Peter.” Peter gaped at the man incredulously. Was he seriously going to pass this off as some sort of teaching moment? How dumb did he think Peter was? Mr. Wesley caught his expression and scoffed a little. “That has always been how he has seen this sort of thing. If he wanted you dead, you would be. Instead you’re here, receiving proper care.”

“They’ll know something is wrong with me,” he rasped. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind before now, but his tests would come back weird. That spider-bite changed him on a genetic level. “They’ll know that I’ve mutated—”

“Only the ones we want to know,” Mr. Wesley replied, confidently. Peter blinked and shook his head a little, wincing at the movement. “How many times have we visited this very hospital, Peter? How many times have we conversed with Dr. Snow?” Now Peter could recall with perfect clarity every meeting they had with the doctor. Wesley following up on patients, or research, or even things happening in the man’s personal life. Did Mr. Fisk really have doctors working for him? “Your bloodwork won’t see the light of day. All your aunt will see is regular discharge paperwork.”

“But he tried to kill me. Why is he helping me?”

“You’re useful to him.”

Peter shook his head. “I won’t be, anymore. Not now that I know who he is. I can’t do this anymore, Mr. Wesley. You may as well have l-l-left me there.”

“That wasn’t what he wanted. He treats his employees well, when they’re deserving,” Mr. Wesley folded his hands in his lap and stared at Peter with an expression that was asking for something. Forgiveness? Understanding?

“Mr. Wesley—”

“He bought you a new wardrobe and laptop.”

“I know—”

“He offered you a job, barely knowing what you could do.”

“That doesn’t excuse what he did!” Peter croaked again. He couldn’t seem to get any volume, and the strain on his throat made him shudder. He hurt too much to be having any kind of conversation, let alone this one.

“Perhaps not, but he was the one who selected your aunt’s application when she applied for the financial aid from the _Marlene Vistain Mothers and Children Foundation_.” Peter’s jaw hung open a little. Mr. Fisk was involved in his life, even back then before they had ever met? “He was the one who ensured your uncle’s paperwork would finally go through.” No, no that wasn’t possible. They were union. There were steps that had to be taken. One person couldn’t just move someone to the front of the line no questions asked. Could they?

“Oh, has May spent any of her sweepstakes winnings yet?” Mr. Wesley asked, casually.

_No way._

“You must see all the good he has done for your family. Yes, he has a temper when you don’t follow instructions, but he won’t ask you to do something you can’t do. He hasn’t asked you to do anything outlandish. He has you working on medical and rescue equipment in the labs at work, and he only wants you to capture criminals. He knew from the beginning you wouldn’t kill, and he won’t ask you to.”

“But—no. No, I don’t care, he can’t just—”

“Peter—”

“No, Mr. Wesley!” he exclaimed, feeling his heart pound harder. “He tried to kill me. H-h-he _choked_ me,” Peter croaked, wondering if he would ever stop crying. “And I… I didn’t… I could have fought back and didn’t. That won’t happen again. I will _never_ let that happen again. He won’t have that power over me,” Peter said, resolve firm. Mr. Wesley leaned back, the imploring expression morphing to one of indifference.

“I see,” he said, coolly. “So I suppose the fact that he knows your secret identity, especially with all this talk of the Accords, is of little importance?” Peter’s lip trembled as he nodded his head. His identity didn’t matter. What the government did with his life didn’t matter. At least they had to have some kind of morals in dealing with enhanced, right? Mr. Fisk—Kingpin—didn’t have any scruples whatsoever. Mr. Wesley hummed in thought. “You’re right, you can absolutely protect yourself. Our employer wouldn’t have that edge over you again, and if you’re unafraid of these regulations for mutants,” Peter flinched a little at the word. It felt like some kind of slur, they way Mr. Wesley said it. “I suppose there is nothing that can be done.” Peter’s eyes narrowed a little. There was no way it could be that easy. Mr. Wesley looked away from him, staring at some point on the wall in front of him. “I should see to May.”

Peter’s heart stopped.

“She’s going through such an ordeal,” Mr. Wesley looked back at Peter, calm and calculating. “I believe our employer would like me to take care of her, while you’re incapacitated.”

“No… no please,” he whispered.

“Can you protect her all the time, Peter?” Peter started shaking. “Or your friend Ned? What about Michelle? Can you keep an eye on all three of them at once?”

“Please, Mr. Wesley, don’t hurt them.”

“I don’t want to, Mr. Parker,” Mr. Wesley said, staring straight into his eyes. “Our employer doesn’t want me to if I don’t have to. After all, you have very bright friends, and your aunt is a kind, lovely woman. So tell me, do I have to?”

Peter let out a new sob. Mr. Wesley made no move to touch him. He cocked his head to the side like some kind of predator, waiting. “Please—what do I have to do?”

Mr. Wesley smiled. “What you’ve been doing.” Peter shook his head again. “You yourself said you don’t _know_ what happens with those criminals, or what goes on behind the scenes. You still catch the people we want; you still work at Fisk Tower, no one needs to know what happened. No one needs to know what you learned about the Kingpin.”

“But _now_ I know what he does—”

“Do you?” Mr. Wesley asked sharply. “Can you honestly say you know what he talks to these people about? Do you really know what happens to the criminals he wishes to speak to?” Peter pressed his lips together. Truthfully, he didn’t. He did, but he didn’t know _for sure_. He could lie to himself about it, if it was to protect his friends.

He would absolutely do it to protect May.

He had no one else left.

“Nothing has to change,” Mr. Wesley stretched out a hand and let it hover over Peter’s head, like a person who found a skittish stray he wanted to pet. Peter bowed his head, and the man patted him gently. “You’ll still get your stipend as long as you do what he asks. Besides, it looks like your aunt has just submitted an early application for an apartment that is going to open up at the end of June. Our employer has some influence there, as well.”

“Why?” Peter rasped, voice robbed entirely by the conversation and emotional strain.

“He wants to teach you. He really does see a lot of potential in you. Will you let him, Peter? Will you keep working with us, despite this bump in the road we’ve run across?”

Peter shuddered. “Yes, Mr. Wesley. I…. I can.” Mr. Wesley smiled, pulling out his phone and sending a quick text.

“I’m glad we can continue to do business, Mr. Parker,” he replied, standing up at the Doctor and May both came in. May looked flustered and hassled, flare of anger in her eyes as Dr. Snow moved calmly toward the bed.

“I’m sorry, Peter. The nurse attending you is swamped. Your aunt has been trying to tell me, and considering how little the narcotics are affecting you, and how short-lived they are, I decided to come in and give you the medication myself.” He unwrapped a needle and pulled an unopened vial from his pocket. He moved away from the bed, and Peter was pretty sure he was preparing the shot to give him. Peter glanced up at Mr. Wesley, who merely shrugged slightly and adjusted his tie.

“Thank you for waiting with him while I got Dr. Snow, Mr. Wesley. I can’t believe you found him—” she said, dabbing her eyes, a small smile on her face. Peter looked over at Mr. Wesley who cocked an eyebrow at him. “He doesn’t remember what happened,” she said, quietly, as Dr. Snow approached again. He injected the medicine into the port of Peter’s IV, and suddenly he felt a new, fuzzy feeling take over. It wasn’t a pain reliever, exactly, but he felt very sleepy. His brows furrowed as his eyes started to close. May ran her fingers through his hair again, smiling. “It’s alright, Peter. You’re just going to sleep for a while. Everything will be okay.”

Peter closed his eyes as her words washed over him, thinking how wrong May was.

Nothing would ever be okay again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNING***  
> Description of being beaten, strangulation, and later description of hospitalization and being ventilated. 
> 
> Fun Writing Notes:  
> 1.Originally, this was when Peter was a lot more suspicious of Fisk a lot earlier on. I had Fisk woo him too much for that plan to work. Pearson was actually a pedophile named Mr. Nguyen, who managed to get a plea deal and blame his partner for his crimes. Peter was also not injured, just tired and mad. 
> 
> 2.Peter’s still really smart, everyone. He was just lost in the [razzle-dazzle.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ByeXMGqapnU) He wanted to trust this guy so much. He was so nice to Peter and May, you know? It’s easier to turn a blind eye to things when you don’t want to see something bad. This was a scenario where he couldn’t buy into the lie, even though he wanted to. The rose-tinted glasses were taken away. 
> 
> 3.Okay, so here’s my thinking on this fight—or lack of fight. Fisk is smart. He knows Peter is stronger than him, and he knows about the Spider-Sense (because of course Wesley told him). He’s mad, and he’s positive he can take the kid right now because of how injured Peter is. I had him hit by several cars last chapter for a reason. In Homecoming he has a building dropped on him, and he still goes after the Vulture. It didn’t seem so far-fetched. But I really wanted to make sure he was worn down. He had two panic attacks (and for those of you who have never had one, I’m glad for you, but they can wear you out. When I have one I tend to lie down for several hours afterward because of how exhausted I get), no food, a bad, bad, bad day, and he was already injured. Wesley has been getting to know Peter pretty well the last couple of months. He probably has seen triggers affecting him on the job, and knows how guns and gunfire would be one of them. Wesley tricks his danger sense, and then it gets scrambled because everything flying at him his dangerous. He hasn’t honed the skill yet. It took Spidey a while to get this down (and it still can screw things up for him). There is no way Fisk would get the jump on him like that again. As for Peter being hurt—he’s not made of steel. His skin and bones aren’t suddenly unbreakable or unsusceptible to pain. I remember several regular joes hurting him just fine (when they managed to land a hit). The semi probably cracked several bones in his torso and may have fractured his spine. In all honesty, at the end of this chapter, I think he should be hurt worse. Mr. Fisk beating him within an inch of his life? Doable. Take it or leave it, and I get where you’re coming from if you leave it. 
> 
> 4\. Peter doesn’t know his strength as well as he’d like to. I’ve been trying to have that strewn throughout. He never hit anyone. He only uses his webs. He is terrified that if he knocks someone down, they won’t get back up. This also goes for Fisk, even though the man was going to kill him. Our poor boy is not really thinking straight (and who would be?). 
> 
> 5\. Peter is very, very hurt. Wesley is the only person around. He’s going to ask for help. It’s like the whole begging for mercy thing. You gotta hope the human you’re dealing with has a shred of decency in them. 
> 
> 6\. Peter’s Speed Dial: 1 for voicemail, 2 for May, 3 for Ned, 4 for May’s work, and 5 for Wesley. 
> 
> 7\. It’s pretty common for people going into shock to stop feeling pain, or to disassociate from pain. It’s one of the ways the body tries to protect itself. 
> 
> 8\. It’s the wee hours of the morning. Wesley’s disguising his voice to make it sound like he was sleeping.
> 
> 9\. Fisk did a lot of damage to Peter’s throat. He stopped breathing on his own for a minute y’all. Things got out of hand. Truth is, Fisk didn’t care if Peter lived or died, but once everyone knew he decided he wanted to keep him. 
> 
> 10\. If you’ve never seen someone wake up with a ventilator in them, well, again I’m glad for you. It is a pretty unforgettable thing. They know something is there that doesn’t belong, and it’s not pretty. When you have no recollection of getting from point a to point b, and you wake up with something lodged in your throat? Yeah.
> 
> 11\. Super metabolism! Drugs hit quick and leave quicker. It’s canon that Peter can deal with and process toxins a whole lot faster and better than most. Unfortunately, I take that to mean medicine as well. However, I have never thought that pain killers would have no affect on Peter. I subscribe to the idea that they metabolize much quicker, so he feels the effects faster, but they’re short-lived. 
> 
> 12\. The Accords are not good, guys.
> 
> 13\. Peter is officially a Made Man. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please comment/kudos to let me know what you think. Also, follow me [@hanuko.](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go back to normal, or as normal as they can be after Peter found out he's working for the mob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof!
> 
> This one was _hard_ guys. I needed it to segue to the next chapter (otherwise it just comes out of nowhere) and it was just disjointed and weird and difficult to smush together the way I wanted. 
> 
> On the bright side, I'm on time (during the day, even!) AND Tony is coming. Next chapter. 
> 
> I know, I've said similar things before, but I mean it this time!!!
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

Peter was released from the hospital two days later to recover at home. They couldn't give him much of anything in the way of medication, and the hospital was loud and bright and uncomfortable. He passed the 36-hour mark for possible unseen damage from _"the strangulation attempt,"_ as Dr. Snow called it, and the bright lights and sharp sounds of the building made Peter sick and dizzy due to his enhanced senses. Even though it was a little unorthodox to do so, the doctor decided to release him, especially considering how well he was recovering. Peter was pretty sure he had Mr. Fisk to thank for that. Or maybe Mr. Wesley.

  
Being grateful to them for the relief left a sour taste in his mouth.

  
Mr. Wesley used his time in the hospital wisely. One day he convinced May to go and get some proper rest and a shower, and that he could watch over Peter when she was gone. It was a bit of a nasty surprise for Peter to wake up to. The same blonde from the gala had accompanied the man with her black and silver case. Mr. Wesley told him he was healing too quickly, and Felicia was going to teach him how to apply makeup to make a convincing bruise. Felicia, to her credit, asked no questions while she gave the lesson, and Peter found he was glad to have this skill. If he was bruise free too soon, May would get really suspicious. The rapid healing of his black eye from Flash was one thing, and it took a lot of circular reasoning to get her off track. An injury of this magnitude disappearing too quickly would be impossible to explain.

  
After Peter recovered, it took a while for him to stop flinching at every. Little. _Thing._ His senses were constantly dialed up to eleven. He was hyper focused everywhere he went, and it was impacting every aspect of his life. May treated him like he was made of glass. She coddled him to the point that one day he snapped at her hushed voice and wary touch. He instantly apologized, and of course May forgave him, but he couldn't miss the wounded look in her eyes. He felt especially like an ass when that very same night, he woke up screaming from a nightmare to her petting his head and wrapping him in her arms while he cried.

  
At school everyone knew. Well, everyone _thought_ they knew. They all heard how he got mugged and beaten up in Hell's Kitchen one day after he left his internship, and that his new bag and almost everything in it was taken and most likely hocked. Everyone walked on eggshells around him, even _Ned._ Their behavior was infuriating, and he thought it was totally unnecessary. Then one day, out of the blue, Flash approached him from behind and he was so startled, he reacted without thinking and slammed the bully into a locker, to the surprise of both of them. He was even _more_ startled when Flash clapped a warm hand on his shoulder afterwards and asked if he was okay. It was the most serious tone Peter had ever heard from the other boy. He... still wasn't sure what that was about. It was nice to have the reprieve from Flash, but at the same time it was a rude awakening. His classmates' actions were not without merit.

  
Going back to the tower was also a strange endeavor. In the week he was gone, Dr. Ohnn had up and left. His device was gone, too. According to Mr. Wesley, the night of the city-wide blackout was the last time anyone at work saw him. No search had been sent out though. Apparently, this was normal behavior for the man, and he had done this with other employers in the past.

  
Peter wondered what Dr. Ohnn did to piss the Kingpin off.

  
When he first got back for a lab day at Fisk Tower, Aaron took one look at him and his (fake) bruises, shrugged and told him how he came to work for Mr. Fisk. He spun a tale depicting a younger Aaron taking a dive for his brother so he could get out, without Jeff ever knowing. It was an uglier story than Peter's, and to this day Aaron's brother (who didn’t have any knowledge of what Aaron had done) still held animosity toward him. Peter didn't ask the engineer how he knew, because Peter recognized the same inkling of _admiration/anger/fear_ of Mr. Fisk that he now had inside himself. He was honestly more surprised by how few of Mr. Fisk's employees had that spark that he and Aaron shared.

  
He wondered if it would be okay to tell Aaron he was Spider-Man.

  
He decided the cons outweighed the pros, especially if Mr. Fisk found out.

  
Then things slowly started returning to normal. He and May ate takeout when she burnt the meatloaf. Flash went back to acting like an asshole at AcaDec practice. Peter and  
Aaron started a new project drafting a better pump for the water treatment facility. Freddy still drove him home.

  
He stopped flinching whenever he saw Mr. Wesley or Mr. Fisk.

  
That was pretty impressive progress.

  
Peter still got in whatever car Mr. Wesley sent for him after he finished a job. He was a little less chatty on these jobs, and he didn't dispute it when people claimed he worked for a crime boss. They were right, after all. Mr. Wesley gave him sound advice on his homework on the way back to his apartment, and on their internship days he learned a lot more about some of the seedier deals the Kingpin was involved with. Some of them made him sick to his stomach. Well, _most_ of them made him sick to his stomach. Some were kind of interesting, though. It was pretty amazing how Mr. Fisk knew what made people tick. Watching Mr. Wesley exploit those traits was fascinating, despite the fact that the very same behavior was what snagged him in their weird mob-family.

  
Because really, despite the fact that they were underhanded and abusive and just _bad,_ Peter felt like he was part of a family, with them. He had peers. People trusted and respected him. He even had protection as Spider-Man. Before, most cops would chase him down and try to arrest him. Now they were either occupied or turned a blind eye. Everything operated the same as before, except instead of being at the kids table, he was included in the conversation with the adults.

  
Aaron was especially kind to him. He still played around, teaching in the same chaotic way as always, but any time Peter seemed nervous around Mr. Wesley, he acted as a buffer. He never asked what happened, who did what, or how Peter's trust was broken. He also noticed that Mr. Wesley was Peter's only decent help in Spanish and came up with a good fix for his problem.

_  
"¿Cuándo fiesta?"_ Peter said staring at his book.

_  
"Eres malo en esto, broki,"_ Miles replied with a smirk. They had met up in Aaron's apartment on a Saturday afternoon. Miles brought his chemistry project (which Peter was more than happy to help with), and Peter brought his dreaded Spanish homework.

  
"What?"

_  
"En Espanol, mi mano."_

_  
"¿...que?"_

_  
"Muchos gracias. Inténtalo de nuevo.”_

  
_"¿Cuándo es la fiesta?"_

  
Miles nodded at the correction. _"La fiesta es el sábado. ¿Quieres venir conmigo?"_

_  
"... Si, por favor."_

  
"Okay what did I say?"

  
"The party is on Saturday. Do you want to go together?"

  
"Great job, man!" 

  
Peter rubbed his eyes and dropped his book on the counter. "What does _broki_ mean?"

  
"Huh?" Miles stared at him, perplexed.

  
"You called me _broki,_ I think. What does that even mean?"

  
Miles furrowed his eyebrows. "Uh... Huh. I guess it means... Well it means brother, but it's more like bro. Or buddy."

  
"I thought that was _mano,_ or _hermano,_ " Peter responded

  
Miles rolled his eyes. "Different dialect, man. Don't just go calling anyone _broki_ though, okay? It's for close friends." Peter felt his heat swell a little. 

  
"Thanks, Miles," Peter grinned. Aaron coughed and the boys looked over at him.

  
"I just love watching bros becoming bros. I'm getting a cavity over here," the older man smirked, reclined in the sofa. Peter blushed and rubbed the back of his neck as Miles laughed, telling his uncle he was just jealous that he wasn't included.

  
Aaron waited until after he dropped Miles off at his place to bring up how work was affecting him. 

  
"Hey," he said after they got back on the road, heading towards Peter's apartment. "You uh... You good?" 

  
Peter glanced at Aaron, a little confused. "Um.... Yes?"

  
"I mean with Fisk and Wesley." Peter flushed and stared at his feet. "It's just that it's been a few weeks since, uh, well, you know." Peter shrugged a little. "The thing is, kid, you gotta be good with this situation. I've been watching the news, and of these Accords go through, it ain't gonna be good for you."

  
Peter felt his hands shake a little.

  
"Wha--" he croaked and cleared his throat, "what are you talking about?"

  
Aaron shook his head. "Come on, man. I'm not stupid. I don't know what you do for Kingpin, but I know you do _something._ Just like you know _I_ do something."

  
"I don't--"

  
"I'm not asking what. I value my neck. I'm not gonna put it on the line to satisfy some sick curiosity," Aaron interrupted, smoothly. "But I've known you were a mutant for a while."

  
"I'm not a mutant."

  
"Sorry, _enhanced,_ ” Aaron corrected himself, with a small eyeroll. His expression seemed to be annoyed with the Political Correctness of it all.

  
"I'm not--"

  
"Pete, come on. I saw you pick up a hundred-pound engine like it was nothing." Peter winced. He didn’t realize he was being so obvious. “I’m just saying, with all the talk that’s going on, you need to watch your back. Fisk and Wesley will protect you as long as you’re loyal. Don’t give them a reason to throw you under the bus.”

  
Peter had been following the news about the Sokovia Accords that were proposed by King T’Chaka of Wakanda, and at first, he didn’t think Aaron could be more wrong. Sure, Mr. Wesley said something about them in the hospital, but Peter had been reading up on it since, and figured the man was probably trying to scare him. The Accords were to hold people like the Avengers accountable. It was meant for people who misused their powers and caused destruction or death. It was reasonable to want some kind of leash around them. If someone like the Scarlet Witch suddenly went rogue because she thought she knew better and there weren’t consequences for her actions, anyone could be in danger. It wasn’t for people like him. All he did was stop muggers.

  
As it was such a hot topic, they were discussing it in school, and they had a debate in Social Studies. Michelle had a lot to say on the topic, and Peter discovered how very wrong he was about the whole thing. He knew the Mutant Registration Act was awful. To target people who were born a little differently—it was barely any different from any other civil rights issue that ever happened in the past. History shouldn’t repeat itself, and everyone with a lick of brains knew it was wrong. Stupid people believed all kinds of awful things the government had said. Jewish people would steal your money. Black people would rape and steal. Women would be too weak to lead. Homosexual people would corrupt children. Muslims would commit acts of terrorism. Each wave of prejudice and fear was fought against, until education started to win out and laws for human rights were upheld. The prejudice against enhanced people was no different. Hearing that the Sokovia Accords was basically the Mutant Registration Act wrapped up in shiny, pretty packaging to distract the public was disconcerting.

  
“Miss Jones? Would you like to respond to Mr. Thompson?” Their Social Studies teacher asked. Currently the room was divided into the group that was for the Accords and the group that was against, and Peter happened to be on Flash’s team—the pro-Accords side. The goal of the exercise was to persuade people to join their group. Flash’s team was doing pretty well. During his argument a few people had started to drift to his side of the room, agreeing that while everything the Avengers had done was good, there was still a lot of bad that came out of their actions. Ultron didn’t happen that long ago, after all.

  
“I just don’t believe that we should remove basic personal freedoms from any person, no matter their color, creed, gender, national orientation, sexual orientation, or genetic makeup. The Accords as written make it so _any_ enhanced individual has no right to privacy—that multiple governments can have access to their information. Not only that, they also assign a threat level to each person,” Michelle said, coolly. She spoke with a no-nonsense tone of voice that was calm, but deliberate. “The Accords also require any person with innate abilities to wear a tracker at all times. Innate implying _born with_ , which implies they are targeting mutants and enhanced individuals who were not government sanctioned explicitly. Does anyone know how Spider-Man got his abilities? Or Power Man? These Accords will target the people who are operating for the better good of the city and make it so they can be detained without trial, which is at _best_ a violation of due process, and at _worst_ unconstitutional.”

  
Peter stood up immediately, despite the fact she hadn’t finished her argument, and joined her side, picking up a copy of her written statement on the subject that listed her sources. Ned followed. After that he asked Michelle all he could about the Accords. There were things released by WikiLeaks that she used to get the information, and while it was public it was also buried—most likely by the government. This was Thaddeus Ross’s dream come true. Not only would it help him achieve his goal to start tracking mutants, it also wouldn’t even need to get public approval. Hell, it wouldn’t even need to get approval from either of the Houses! It violated at least four Amendments to the Constitution and targeted a specific population, meaning that the civil rights Title IX protected was worth _nothing_ to the Secretary of State. It made Peter’s stomach turn. No one seemed to know about it though.

  
Peter and Miles came up with a pretty neat solution.

  
“You’re sure this is okay, Aaron?” Peter asked as they started unloading their spray paint—out in _Brooklyn_ , of all places. Aaron scoffed, watching Michelle start to outline her sketch. Peter didn’t have all the details, but it seemed like she had another politically sound and abrasive plan up her sleeve. "I mean, I don't know how you got permission at 5Pointz before, man, but I _know_ there aren't any legal walls in Brooklyn," Peter said with a head shake.

  
"Peter, come on. Let’s just do something cool," Ned whined. "Quit being lawful good."

  
"This will make a more impactful statement, anyway. It shows we don’t care if we get caught, our message is too important." Michelle added. Peter opened his mouth to argue when Aaron interrupted.

  
"Mr. Fisk owns this building," Aaron said, shortly. He sighed at Peter's sour expression. "We have permission as long as we're tasteful. Believe it or not, he's opposed to the Accords, too."

  
"Of course he is," Michelle said firmly, making bold strokes against the cement wall. "He's been fighting to reduce poverty, and he just made that statement about the disparity people of color face, and new programs and scholarships he is going to start funding to help. He understands the plight of those facing inequality."

  
“Come on, man,” Miles said, bumping shoulders with Peter. “This will be fun. We had a good time the last time we did this.”

  
“Yeah,” Ned added, sidling up to them. “Besides, how many other kids do you know that can say they spent their birthday doing this?” he added with a grin.

  
“It’s your birthday?” Michelle asked with a slight tone of surprise. Peter nodded.

  
“I thought you were very observant,” Ned said slyly.

  
Michelle huffed and turned back to the wall. “We went to elementary school together,” she said. Peter smiled. He was surprised she remembered that, seeing as when they met that year she didn’t offer any recognition. “I never once remember him bringing cupcakes or doing the birthday thing during the school year. I always figured it was in the summer.”

  
Peter shrugged as he pulled out his notebook with some of his ideas for his art. Michelle and Ned sat with him earlier and the three went over some plans and ideas for the message they wanted to make. “I never really celebrated at school. I didn’t have many friends, so I didn’t really want to do the cupcake thing, you know? Why give my bullies sweets?” Michelle hummed and resumed her sketching.

  
Aaron clasped a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Well, this year you’re celebrating with friends. We’ll go grab ice cream after, if y’all are down. My treat.”

  
Peter opened and closed his mouth, blushing. “You don’t have to do that.”

  
“Yeah, I don’t. But I want to. Trust me, kid I don’t do anything I don’t want to. It’ll be a fun way to end the day. Besides, I could use some double chocolate chip cookie dough, and I know a place near here that has great ice cream.”

  
They all worked on their art for several hours, each one tackling a different aspect of the wrongness of the Sokovia Accords while Aaron sat back and watched, occasionally offering tips and advice. Miles had decided to do a picture of a woman trying to get away from some dark, ominous shape, while Spider-Man was behind her in handcuffs. Peter found this both touching and disturbing at the same time. It hit a little close to home. Ned decided to continue off of Michelle’s theme from before, and had a group of people together, some with X’s on their chests who were being shuffled to the side and ignored by their peers. Michelle was once again painting Ross, but this time his whole demeanor was gleefully demonic, and he appeared to be whispering something in a black man’s ear who Peter vaguely recognized. The man looked sad, but determined, and huddled before them was a group of people looking at them in fear. Peter had decided to draw Iron Man again, but this time he had his hands up in a defeated gesture while aliens were shooting up a crudely drawn cityscape behind him.

  
“Hey!” Peter startled and looked down the street, then dropped his spray-paint in shock. At the end of the sidewalk, not twenty feet away from him, was none other than Steve Rogers.

  
Captain Steve Rogers.

_  
Captain America._

  
Ned also dropped his paint. Michelle and Miles kept their cool and continued working while Aaron came up with a friendly head nod. “What’s up, man?” he asked.

  
Captain America had a stern expression on his face. Suddenly, Peter had a mad idea that he was about to start lecturing about detention, or head lice. “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be doing graffiti. That’s a crime,” he said firmly, hands folded over his chest.

Aaron laughed and held up his hands. “Not here, man. We have permission from the owner of the building.” Captain America stared and him and raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Seriously, Wilson Fisk wanted to let the kids throw up some art about the Sokovia Accords they’re talking about.”

  
The blonde turned and looked over all their works, frown deepening as he took in the imagery. He seemed especially bothered by the Iron Man caricature. “Why do you have Tony standing by and doing nothing while the city is being destroyed?” confusion colored his tone.

  
Peter blinked and gaped a little before he remembered to answer. “Oh… oh um. Because… well, in the A-a-accords, none of the,” Peter paused to clear his throat, “none of the Avengers can act without permission from the government. It’s actually pretty well hidden in the document. The Article that relates to it says that anyone who signs the Accords isn’t allowed to take action in a country that isn’t their own if there’s a crisis, at least not without permission, but if you weed through the language it’s pretty clear that the Avengers or any enhanced person who signs isn’t allowed to act in their _own_ country, as well,” Peter said with a shrug. “I just thought about what it would be like if during the last alien invasion, none of you could start fighting without permission from the President or Secretary of State, you know? But this isn’t really the worst part of it. It’s kind of a smaller consequence when you look at the bigger picture—”

  
“Which is that human rights will be violated,” Michelle interrupted. “People will be made to give the government all kinds of personal information _and_ sign these papers, forcing them to live without any legal recourse. Not only that, but they’re registered, and many will have to wear tracking bracelets, which will identify them as enhanced. I only read about WWII in history, Captain, but I know for a fact you lived it. How did it pan out the last time a power-hungry madman demanded people who were different registered _how_ they were different with their government?” Peter felt a chill go up his spine. He didn’t even think about the Holocaust. This was one of the first steps, wasn’t it? Was history repeating itself here? What next, concentration camps?

  
Captain America frowned further and narrowed his blue eyes. “I had thought that the Accords were just a way to help keep the Avengers accountable, and maybe some of the vigilantes that are operating without any oversight. Are you sure they’re targeting mutants?”

  
Miles shook his head. “Hate to break it to you sir, but the government is _always_ targeting mutants. Ever since the big showdown during the Cuban Missile Crisis, Professor X and his kids have been on the radar. It’s bad news.”

  
“Huh,” the soldier said, crossing his arms and furrowing his brow. He turned to Aaron. “You guys really have permission to do this?” Aaron nodded.

  
“If you want you can call the guy who owns the building. I’ll give you his number. I mean, you probably want to double check with the county website, but it’s Wilson Fisk. Me and Peter work for him,” he said, nodding in Peter’s direction. Peter flushed and stared at the ground, scuffing his toe against the sidewalk. The soldier looked at the site Aaron pulled up on his phone, and nodded at whatever information he saw there.

  
“Alright, I believe you. Carry on,” he said, turning to leave. “Oh, kids? Thanks for the information. I—wasn’t aware of the full ramifications here. I appreciate it.”

  
“You need to look at the blogs, Captain,” Michelle said. Captain America blinked and nodded again with a confused smile before waving goodbye and leaving. Soon after, the teenagers finished their work and posted photos online, hoping to generate some kind of knowledge among the people. Doing this calmed the ever-present anxiety that had thrummed to life once the Accords really had a chance of becoming a reality. If they actually went through, Peter was stuck with a choice between working for Fisk or being imprisoned indefinitely in some unknown location out at sea. Michelle had said there were rumors that the government built some kind of a ship prison called The Raft. Peter shuddered when he heard about it. Keeping people prisoner on the sea was considered cruel and unusual and he was surprised anyone in the US government could sanction such an awful thing. He sincerely hoped the Accords would never come to be. He already lost so much of his freedom; he wasn’t sure how he would cope if he lost more.

  
As promised, Aaron took them out for ice cream at a small shop in Brooklyn with a kind yet ornery old man serving them. After Aaron told the man it was Peter’s birthday, he offered a small, obviously rare smile, adjusted his glasses and threw on some sprinkles free of charge, with a gruff, “Happy birthday, kid.” Aaron drove them all back to Queens, and Peter sat quietly, listening to his friends’ chatter. All in all, it wasn’t a bad birthday.

  
When he got home, May smiled and asked about his day, giving him his favorite dinner (Pizza from _Mario’s_ down the street) and a single cupcake from the bakery next door. Peter grinned at seeing it, feeling warm that his aunt could have the evening off to spend with him. He went through the small pile of gifts—more nerdy shirts and a PS4 (he shook his head at the extravagance of the gift, which May tutted), until he stumbled upon a couple of neatly wrapped boxes with different paper. His brow furrowed as he looked at May. She shrugged. “Mr. Wesley came by to drop that off. He said it was from Mr. Fisk for your birthday.”

  
Peter stared at the box, hesitant to open it. Things were… amicable… with Mr. Fisk. Peter mostly avoided him, and he was starting to calm down a little around Mr. Wesley, but he felt extremely uncomfortable taking a gift from the man, especially now. May was watching though, so he offered her a small smile and unwrapped the present. Mr. Fisk had bought him a state-of-the-art camera and new photo editing software. Peter didn’t ever tell Mr. Fisk or Mr. Wesley that he liked photography. The fact that something that was a relatively private piece of his life was known by them was disconcerting. A small note was included that read: “ _Mr. Parker. I hope you find this gift to your liking, and that you will be useful to you. Your continued effort with our company is very much needed, and very much appreciated. Sincerely—Wilson Fisk.”_ May crooned over the nice gift, and insisted Peter test out the camera by taking a picture of her with it. He slid next to her and flipped the camera around to take a selfie and smiled at how it turned out. His stomach still turned at the thought of working for Mr. Fisk, and even more at the threat he posed to Peter’s family, but there wasn’t much he could do but grin and bear it.

  
May put on the news and sighed. “If I hear one more thing about the Sokovia Accords—” she said, lifting the remote to change the channel. Peter glanced at the screen and told her to wait when he saw that it was a recap of a press conference from earlier. Mr. Stark stood at a podium, raising his hands and waiting for the group to quiet down.

  
“Everyone is wanting to know where the Avengers stand regarding the Accords,” he began when the room simmered down, “especially since it appears we will be impacted the most. This wasn’t an easy decision to come to, and the team is still discussing it, but overall we have decided that we will sign.” The group clamored loudly, shouting out questions. Peter felt his heart drop to his stomach. “It is important that we are held accountable. I know there have been actions we have taken part in that have had terrible ramifications for the public, and this will pave the way to help us fix the damage we have done. We have a responsibility with this kind of power, and we cannot abuse it.”

  
Peter shivered, suddenly cold. His mouth hung open. May scoffed. “Of course. He only cares about how he looks. Cannot abuse his power my ass. If that’s the case, why is it that every time he wants to go out to dinner, he reserves the whole restaurant? How ridiculous. He probably doesn’t even care what will happen to—” May cut herself off when she saw the look on Peter’s face. “Oh honey, I know you didn’t support the Accords—but maybe Michelle’s blogs are wrong, and they aren’t going to target enhanced people who are just trying to get by,” she said soothingly as she rubbed his shoulder blade. Peter shook his head. This wasn’t happening. He just saw Captain America—

  
Who didn’t know about the lesser known details of the Accords.

  
It seemed like Secretary Ross told them what they wanted to hear, not what they needed to know, and Peter knew how smart Tony Stark was. He was pretty sure the man had the full picture (or close to) before he made his decision. He didn’t care. He didn’t care about mutants. He didn’t care about the little guy and how this would affect them. He didn’t care about _Peter._ How could he?

  
Spider-Man was a small, little-know vigilante whose pseudonym was only known by locals in Queens. Peter himself was just a fifteen-year-old kid from Forest Hills. He was nameless and faceless in the grand scheme of things. Why would the consequences of what happened to him matter to a billionaire he would never cross paths with? Peter felt his stomach turn to stone as he watched the remainder of the press conference and the follow up from the reporters afterwards. It looked like he would be under Wilson Fisk’s thumb for the foreseeable future. _Happy birthday, Peter,_ he thought to himself as he trudged to bed. He hoped things would look less bleak in the morning, and wondered how at the start of the year things were going so well, only to become this mess he was in now.

  
Then again, he should have known better. He was a Parker. His luck never stayed good for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Writing Notes
> 
> 1\. I’m honestly not sure if that is how long a victim of strangulation is required to stay in the hospital. I know that death related to strangulation has occurred up to 36 hours later, so I figured that would be a clock that physicians adhere to, but I am *not* a doctor. 
> 
> 2\. [Felicia Hardy](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/spiderman/images/b/b5/Felicia_Hardy_%28Earth-TRN633%29.png/revision/latest?cb=20170905180914) is delightful, and should be in all the [stories](https://qph.fs.quoracdn.net/main-qimg-168a8206266c5a0579fa0f313b310c21), even if it’s just a [cameo](https://qph.fs.quoracdn.net/main-qimg-fc14c044292b69c9ddb3dfb75285ed46) or two. 
> 
> 3\. [Flash](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i0NOFmT98_s) is a good guy [deep down](https://ic.pics.livejournal.com/starwolf_oakley/11581300/795018/795018_1000.jpg), guys. Really, he is. [Remember?](https://qph.fs.quoracdn.net/main-qimg-997b175f805384466e5be1434336335f)
> 
> 4\. I hope my Spanish is okay. I had one of my friends check it, but I still think it’s rough. Also, did I do the Puerto Rican slang right? I know a lot of people from Mexico. I know none from Puerto Rico. My girls were like, “what the hell is _broki_?” And I’m still not sure if it’s just supposed to be said _about_ your friend, as opposed to _to_ your friend? I was really confused. If I’m using it wrong, and there is a better equivalent for the word _bro,_ let me know please. :-)
> 
> 5\. The [Accords](https://marvelcinematicuniverse.fandom.com/wiki/Sokovia_Accords) are taking a more active role in this story then I thought. And listen y’all, they’re bad. They’re so, so, so [very bad](http://thelegalgeeks.com/2016/05/10/why-the-sokovia-accords-are-unconstitutional/). The little snapshot we are presented in the movie? Doesn’t even cover it.
> 
> 6\. I’m kind of sad about life right now, my friends. You grow up thinking you live in this great place that believes in freedom and equality and every person is created equal—then you learn the truth, and you watch all this prejudice and ignorance unfold right before your eyes, sometimes from your own friends and family. My heart is a little broken. It wormed its way into this chapter. Sorry.
> 
> 7\. So…. Before I mentioned legal walls. Apparently, NY does not have these? I mean, we don’t technically have them either, but there are places out here on the west coast that if you paint them, no one really gives a shit. So… solution. Fisk owns everything. ;-) Also, I don’t think Peter would recognize T’Chaka off the bat. The man rarely showed up in any kind of local news, mostly international. I figure he recognizes the name, but not the face.
> 
> 8\. I don’t remember what Fisk publicly supported in the comics. I’m going with against because he has a ton of enhanced people working for him, or maybe not enhanced, but extra (I like to think the Prowler is lethal enough to be considered, like Black Widow). I can’t imagine he would like it if everyone knew who his people were.
> 
> 9\. I KNOW in MCU/the new movies that Peter Parker’s birthday is August 10th. This story started before that tidbit came out, and there was nothing prior that listed a birthday for him. I _really_ need his birthday in spring for some of my mini feels/plots to work. Well, maybe not _needed_ , but I wanted it that way. Just let it happen.
> 
> 10\. Look kids. We did selfies back in the day before there was any kind of fancy flip screen tool. They were nearly always awful, but occasionally, a gem would be found. Let a girl be nostalgic, eh?
> 
> 11\. What? Tony Stark *not* giving his teammates all the information they need? Never.
> 
> Look y’all, I love Tony, but I love him partially because of his flaws. He is an “ends justifies the means,” kind of guy. I feel his flaws fall by the wayside a lot in MCU. If I see one more meme of Tony Stark saying, “I told you so,” I might gag. The people against the Accords had very valid reasons for being so. Tony is rich, he’s protected, he’s not going to see the same kind of ramifications the mutants will. At least in the comics, he supported the act because he thought it was the lesser of two evils (*COUGH*sentinels*COUGH*). In the movies, though, one guilt trip does not an Accords supporter make. Did Steve have to do him like that? No. But that doesn’t mean that Tony was right.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Follow me on tumblr [@hanuko.](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/) Please leave me a comment or kudos! They make me happy and give me encouragement. Otherwise I'm all [ hey you, can you hear me?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TFjmvfRvjTc)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The International Center has been bombed, and Peter's life has been turned upside down (in more ways than one). 
> 
> And what's with the crazy Audi with the grumpy driver parked in front of his building?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!
> 
> Posting on time, bright and early Sunday morning (PDT). Three weeks in a row. I can't believe it. ;-)
> 
> On a side note, work has been kicking my butt. We've had overtime for the past two weeks, and school starts next week for the kiddo. Plus, it's labor day weekend and we have a _rodeo_ here. 
> 
> Ugh. Rodeo tourists are the _worst._ I can't even. It's like, "Look, city-boy, I can tell those boots ain't broken in and you've probably never seen a horse outside of an arena or a stall. Now please, be drunk somewhere _else._ "
> 
> Whatevs. 
> 
> I've got some upcoming projects I'm about to start working on, too. Keep your eyes open because it's sure to be a blast.
> 
> Due to all the chaos, I have been trying to get ahead in my chapters as things are getting hectic. This means while some upcoming things have been written, I'm still going to post *as scheduled, meaning Sunday/Monday* so that I will have material to post in the upcoming weeks (in case I end up not having as much time as I like to work on this beautiful beast of a story). Also keep in mind that I have no beta, I edit all my own work, which is a lengthy process in and of itself. I appreciate everyone's patience. Please don't think I'm like... withholding chapters to build the suspense. I really don't like doing it, It's really just how the chips fell, right now. 
> 
> On the bright side, for those of you who follow me on Tumblr [@hanuko.](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/), I am posting teasers for upcoming chapters midweek to take the edge off. Or maybe _that's_ to build the suspense. ;-)
> 
> Oh, hey, last thing.
> 
> I LOVE YOUR COMMENTS AND KUDOS!!!!
> 
> Seriously, they make me smile, and are the only recognition I get for this. I am always appreciative. If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to know you're out there and what you think. :-)
> 
> Happy reading.

The bombing in Vienna was all over the news. Seventy injured and twelve dead—it was an alarming terrorist attack that shook the world. Blame was flying everywhere. Some were accusing hidden government organizations and sleeper agents, others held mutant advocates responsible, and some blamed the Avengers themselves. People protested and rioted in the street. Peter never thought dealing with an angry mob was within his skillset, but people were getting hurt so Spider-Man was on the scene, Accords or no.

“Hey buddy,” he shouted, shooting a web at a bald man who was grabbing a woman from behind, “no means no! Come on. Remember the song with me. That’s her no-no square.” He pulled the man away from her and webbed him to a nearby wall. The woman cried and ran away, trying to escape the enraged group of people. Peter sighed as he swung above, creating web barriers so people could leave the scene safely. _So much for that peaceful protest,_ he thought. At school they were told that a group of people were meeting outside city hall, holding a silent protest against the Sokovia Accords, and if they got permission from their parents or guardians they could attend. Peter and Michelle had gone together with her parents. Then, all hell broke loose after the bombing of the International Center. After he made sure she and her family were safe, the teen suited up. Several reporters saw him on the scene as he guided people out of the madness, and approached with questions about how he felt, and if he would sign.

“Guys, it’s not a great time right now,” he replied, swinging towards some looters that were taking advantage of the chaos. Journalists were vultures. He perched on top of a building, glad that police officers and other emergency services _finally_ arrived to take care of things. He pulled his cell phone out and winced at the time. Mr. Wesley and Mr. Fisk were _not_ going to be happy with him. He sighed as he swung towards Hell’s Kitchen, dialing his employer. After a brief conversation with Mr. Wesley he waited in an alley near an old Persian Rug store, hiding behind some stacked up crates. Before too long, Francis appeared in that very alley with a long trench-coat that Peter threw over himself. He quickly pulled off his mask and slid into the car.

Mr. Wesley was waiting for him. As the car started moving, he handed the boy a neatly pressed suit and glanced back at his tablet, to give a semblance of privacy while he changed. Peter was too used to occasions like this to be bothered.

“Sorry about that, Mr. Wesley,” Peter said after he was dressed, grabbing a bottle of water. “Those riots are insane right now. We got permission to leave school for the protest, and no one expected things to escalate that way.”

Mr. Wesley hummed in response and put away his tablet. “Nevertheless, Mr. Parker, punctuality is important. I realize things have been a little rocky these past few weeks, but that’s no reason to forget your manners.”

Peter felt a small swell of anger at the man’s words. “Manners?” _Seriously?_ Did Mr. Wesley honestly have the audacity to lecture him about good manners, after everything that had happened? Geez, he called, didn’t he?

“Generally speaking, when someone is picking you up, you let them know you won’t be at the designated location _ahead_ of time,” he said, small smirk playing on his lips. _Oh._ Peter figured he probably had a point. Mr. Wesley didn’t know where he’d be after school without the added disorder from the protest. “We are meeting some very important people today, and they are—different—then most of the contacts we see.” Peter pondered the man’s words. Mr. Wesley either meant that they would be meeting with someone obviously seedy (like when he got to meet Mr. Owlsley—ugh), or someone who was genuine (a very, _very_ rare occurrence). Peter was learning to read people like Mr. Wesley, and he wondered how long it would take him to figure out which it was. “I want you to be on your best behavior,” Mr. Wesley said, sternly. Peter rolled his eyes. He never behaved any other way.

Well, okay, he wasn’t at his _absolute best_ with Mr. Owlsley, but the guy was super skeezy.

“By the way,” the man continued, “don’t tell them your name. We represent the company today, Mr. Parker. Do you understand?” Peter nodded in response as they pulled up near a rundown office building in the downtown area. Peter straightened his tie as he got out of the car and adjusted his backpack over his shoulder. Since he was “mugged,” he hadn’t replaced the fancier bag yet. On their way inside, Mr. Wesley told him Mr. Fisk was still deciding between a briefcase from _J.W. Hulme Co._ and a messenger bag from _Gucci._ Peter reminded him to let Mr. Fisk know he really couldn’t care less, and he would be happy with a bag from Target. Mr. Wesley looked scandalized. They made their way through the building, pausing at a door with a paper sign that read _Nelson & Murdock: Attorneys at Law._ It was written crudely in black permanent marker. Peter frowned. Skeezy it was.

Mr. Wesley rapped his knuckles on the door in quick succession and looked around while Peter stood beside him, hand wrapped around his backpack strap. They were waiting for a longer amount of time then he expected. Finally the door opened, and a pretty blonde woman peered out with a small smile. She opened the door wide to allow Mr. Wesley and Peter to come inside. Mr. Wesley put on his showman smile (as Peter dubbed it) and greeted them warmly, gesturing for Peter to follow him. “Hi!” he said looking around the bare office. “Do you do walk-ins?”

Other than the blonde lady—who introduced herself as Karen Page—there were two others in the room. One was blonde man with a warm and friendly face, and the other was a fit brunette wearing red sunglasses. Peter frowned, wondering why someone would wear such dark lenses indoors until he spotted a white and red cane in the corner. The blind man introduced himself as Matt Murdock and the blonde said he was Foggy Nelson. After he exchanged greetings with Mr. Nelson, Peter politely offered his hand to Mr. Murdock, asking if he wanted to shake it. Mr. Murdock seemed both surprised and pleased at his manners, and offered his own to Peter in a friendly way. Mr. Nelson rolled his eyes and had them all sit in the adjoining office around a chipped table while Peter reassessed the situation. It looked like these were new recruits, and most likely they were ones that were going to stay above board. Peter pulled his tablet out of his backpack to take notes and Miss Page did the same with a pen and paper. Mr. Wesley got to work, and Peter wrinkled his nose, no longer distracted by the new faces. Now that they were in an enclosed space, he swore he smelt blood. He wondered if he got nicked earlier. Mr. Wesley let words flow off the tongue, saying they represented a consortium with a variety of interests. Peter was fascinated. Mr. Wesley managed to describe Mr. Fisk’s endeavors to a T without giving away any names at all. Mr. Murdock and Mr. Nelson looked thoughtful as he spoke.

“Why approach us? Why not a larger firm Mister—” Mr. Murdock paused, waiting for Mr. Wesley to fill in the gap.

“Confederated Global Investments is our employer,” Mr. Wesley said smoothly, folding his hands together.

Mr. Murdock offered a small, possibly irritated smile. “That’s not what I was asking.”

Mr. Wesley chuckled. “It’s the only name relevant to this discussion, Mr. Murdock.” Mr. Nelson looked back and forth between them, then leaned toward Peter.

“Hey, kid?” Peter looked up from his tablet and offered a small smile, glancing at Mr. Wesley, who watched him out the corner of his eye. “Your name doesn’t mean much either?”

Peter paused, licking his lips before answering. “Look man,” he said rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, Mr. Nelson, sir,” Mr. Nelson leaned back and looked affronted at the address. “I’m just an intern. If my _boss_ tells you his name isn’t relevant to the discussion, I can guarantee you mine sure as heck isn’t.”

Mr. Nelson stared at him and shook his head, letting out a rueful chuckle. “Sure as heck—” he mumbled, sharing a smile with the blonde woman next to him. Peter realized his role very quickly. He was there to placate them. Mr. Wesley had a dangerous air about him, if you looked for it. Peter balanced him out with a charming grin and youthful charisma that only hard-working kids his age seemed to have.

Mr. Wesley cleared his throat. “I’m here because my employer does extensive business in Hell’s Kitchen, and who better to employ than two local Columbia Law graduates—cum laude and summa cum laude?” he said, gesturing to Mr. Nelson and Mr. Murdock in turn.

Foggy gave him a roguish grin. “The summa is politics,” he said, which Mr. Wesley laughed heartily at.

Mr. Wesley went on, letting them know he knew they were offered much better prospects in bigger law firms, but that his employer admired that they decided to strike out on their own. Peter made big eyes at them, hearing this. They were helping the little guy, too. He felt his stomach twist up in guilt when he realized that he and Mr. Wesley were probably up to no good, with them.

“You’ve done your homework,” Mr. Murdock said, coolly. Peter felt a little buzzing in the back of his head. He had the feeling this attorney would make trouble for them.

“My employer expects no less.”

“Then forgive me for being blunt—”

Mr. Nelson laughed, waving his hands a little. “Blunt is a strong word—” he began, trying to smooth over the rough edges of his partner.

“In my line of work, I find it refreshing,” Mr. Wesley responded, warmly. “Why, the first time I met our intern, here,” he said, clasping a hand on Peter’s shoulder. Peter smiled shyly, knowing this was the expression Mr. Wesley was aiming for, “he told me he was frightened of me. I can be rather intimidating, it seems.” Peter chuckled nervously and offered a little nod.

Mr. Murdock turned his head towards Peter and leaned forward slightly, a small frown on his face. He waited a beat and just as Peter felt his smile begin to falter, he turned his head back to Mr. Wesley. “I can understand why he would think that,” he said, lowly. “What is your line of work, exactly?” Mr. Wesley’s smile fell a little and his brow furrowed. He usually delivered every word and action deliberately when it came to enlisting people for Mr. Fisk, but as Peter looked at him, he wondered if the man was _actually_ offended. It seemed odd to play-act his facial expressions for a blind person.

“I assure you,” Mr. Wesley said, firmly, opening his palms in a beseeching way, “all my employer wants is for you to continue to be ethical, decent men,” Peter had to work really hard to contain his scoff at those words, “and for nothing more than your exceptional skills and discretion—” he pulled an envelope out of his breast pocket. Peter felt his heart jump, seeing Mr. Wesley’s hand near the pistol he knew was holstered there, and Mr. Murdock cocked his head at him again with a furrowed brow as Mr. Wesley slid the envelope across the table to Mr. Nelson. “You’ll be fairly compensated.”

Mr. Nelson let out a long breath as he stared at the check that was within the envelope. “Oh… that’s very fair.”

Mr. Wesley smiled and gestured with his head toward Mr. Murdock. “Your partner doesn’t seem to think so.”

Mr. Murdock frowned a little deeper. “Like Foggy said, we’re particular about our clientele.”

Mr. Wesley shook his head and sighed. “I’m curious about your clientele,” he began, a small, confused smile on his face. “Do they all work for you when you get them off for murder,” he glanced over at Miss Page, “or is it just the pretty ones?”

Peter felt his jaw drop. “Sir!” he whispered harshly. Mr. Wesley looked at him and raised an eyebrow, but Peter stared at Miss Page who looked like she might be about to cry. Mr. Murdock asked her to leave and Peter got up with her, ignoring Mr. Wesley entirely. He may get in trouble for this, but that was just _mean._ Miss Page had been nothing but kind to them. She didn’t do anything to warrant an attack on her character like that.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Page—” he said after they shut the door to the main office.

She sniffled and gave him a watery smile. “It’s Karen, uh—”

Peter shook his head. “Miss Karen. Mr. W—I mean, uh, my boss in there is usually a lot better spoken then that. I don’t know what he was thinking,” he said, regretfully.

“It’s okay… can you really not tell me who you are? Not even your first name?”

Peter shrugged, “Right now, I’m just a face for a giant corporation that’s acting as if it has the rights of a person,” he quipped. Karen let out a loud laugh at that. Soon, Mr. Wesley left the room, and gestured Peter to follow him with a small scowl on his face. Peter gulped and said goodbye, and as soon as they get to the street he began to apologize.

“Why are you sorry?” Mr. Wesley asked, completely calm again. “You did exactly what I expected of you. Why do you think I didn’t give you the details of this encounter before we walked in?” Peter was flustered, and slightly indignant that he was tricked _again._ “Honestly, Mr. Parker, you would have been a liability if you knew more. We need to work on your skills in deception, but for now, and most of the time, I need you to just be yourself. It’s difficult, learning how to read the room _and_ manipulate the players. You need some more experience,” Mr. Wesley said as he pulled out his phone. The made their way toward the car when Peter felt a faint spark—different then the lowkey noise that was always present with Mr. Wesley—at the back of his neck. He turned around and saw Mr. Murdock walking down the sidewalk. The man faltered for a moment but kept walking, slowly moving down the road. Peter narrowed his eyes.

“Sir,” he said, quietly. Mr. Wesley looked up from his phone and at Peter, watching his wary expression, but not following his eyes, smart enough not to provoke a potential threat. “I think we should get out of sight before you call our employer.” Mr. Wesley nodded and opened the door, getting inside. Peter watched as Mr. Murdock stopped altogether on the sidewalk. Peter was almost _certain_ the man was looking right at him, as impossible as that would be. He slid into the car after Mr. Wesley and shut the door behind him.

Since Mr. Stark delivered his statement about the Accords, everything was going crazy. Mr. Wesley was constantly talking to investors, holding meetings at night, and moving back and forth between projects in rapid succession. For the time being, Peter couldn’t do his internship days with the man, which suited the teenager just fine. Mr. Wesley had begun to teach him how to lie effectively, and it made his skin crawl. Aaron had also been busy with some type of project for Mr. Fisk, so they had put the water pump on hold. To cap it all off, Peter had a new assignment: he was to locate Healy, who had just gotten off a murder charge by none other than their new lawyer friends. Peter found him pretty quickly.

It was difficult for a dead man with a pike in his head to go anywhere, after all.

After he recovered from being violently ill at the sight of the dead body, Peter apologized profusely to Mr. Fisk for not finding Healy in time. The man brushed him off, unconcerned. Mr. Healy knew a lot, yes, but it was unlikely he gave anyone any pertinent information. When he saw how shaken Peter was from the last target, he gave him a little break.

“We’re fairly busy with other things here, Mr. Parker. Now, I still need you to locate Mr. Larson before the week is out,” the giant said, referring to a drug manufacturer that actually operated out of Queens, “but you can have the rest of the week off. You’ll still be paid for your time, like usual, and then on Monday you can come to work a little more refreshed, hmm?” Peter let out a relieved sigh at hearing this. A whole week where he could just focus on school—which could not be better timed, considering he had finals to worry about. He was pretty sure outside of locating Mr. Larson, he wouldn’t be patrolling as Spider-Man. He could use a break. The next day he found an old DVD player on the subway on his way home from school. He figured he would tinker with it during study breaks.

“Hey May,” Peter sighed, shutting the door behind him and moving to drop his backpack off at the table. She was entertaining someone—most likely a friend from work—and he didn’t want to interrupt, so he tried to casually duck in and out. He really wasn’t up for entertaining company. Between school, random muggers trying to shoot him, and Kingpin breathing down his neck lately, he just wanted to sit in his room and take apart his latest find. Nothing was more relaxing than harvesting old, unwanted machinery and making it into something useful and new.

Peter kind of wished he could take apart his life and transform it the same way.

_C’est la vie._

He’d have to ask Mr. Hernandez how that idiom worked in Spanish. Actually, no. Peter had a really hard time following his lessons and his teaching methods. He could probably ask Mr. Wesley.

Or maybe Miles would know.

“Hey!” May called as he ducked out of sight. “How was school today?” Peter started walking into the kitchen to grab a snack and head back to his room, resigned to a few minutes of small talk with his aunt and her guest. Maybe they’d be distracted by the tricked-out Audi with the pissed off driver parked out front. Well, not the driver. Lots of drivers were pissed off in New York. Peter was pretty sure if he drove outside of a parking lot, he’d be pissed off, too (he came close to losing it at Walmart. He didn’t need the negativity of the open road). The ride was pretty sweet, though.

“Okay. There’s this crazy car parked outside…” Peter lost his voice when he actually got a look at May’s companion. There, on his couch, in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than their rent (and Peter had a good eye for this now, considering he had two in his closet) was Tony Stark. Tony _Freaking_ Stark. Billionaire. Genius. Philanthropist. Peter’s hero. Peter’s _honest-to-God hero_ that broke his heart at his last press conference. He was just sitting there eating May’s walnut-date loaf, and oh God he was looking at Peter. He was looking at him and making eye contact and—

“Oh, Mr. Parker.”

_Oh my God. It’s Tony Stark. Tony Stark knows my name!_

_Why the hell does Tony Stark know my name? Should he know my name? He shouldn’t know my name, unless—does he_ know? _Does he know about Kingpin? Maybe he just knows Mr. Fisk and heard about me in passing conversation. But why would Kingpin talk about me to Tony Stark? Oh crap, oh crap I need to say something._

  
Peter managed to stutter some kind of greeting that for some reason _included_ his name. How he managed not to smack himself in the face after he introduced himself to a man who already knew who he was, he wasn’t sure.

“Tony,” Mr. Stark introduced himself with a smile, fully turning to face him.

“What are you doing here?” he managed to stutter out. Peter briefly took in his face, wondering about the shiner before glancing at his aunt who very clearly mouthed, _“what the fuck?”_ and yeah, Peter couldn’t blame her for that one. Iron Man showing up at their apartment on a Tuesday afternoon? Weird. At least she was subtle about it, hiding herself behind a curtain of her hair so Tony couldn’t see what she was saying.

“It’s about time we met,” the man said confidently. Peter felt his heart clench. Tony Stark knew he was catching people for a mob boss. He had to. Why else would he be there? Peter wasn’t special. Hell, even Spider-Man was fairly innocuous in the grand scheme of things, but Iron Man had intel on just about anything. Oh God, Iron Man was going to take him to the super-secret-ocean-prison. His life was officially over at fifteen. “You’ve been getting my emails, right?” the billionaire said with a wink. Peter again glanced between his aunt and his idol.

“Yeah?” he wondered if this was how Han Solo felt when he was covering for Luke at the Death Star. “Regarding the—”

“You didn’t tell me about the grant,” May interrupted, firmly but kindly. Unfortunately, this only threw Peter off even more. Thankfully Mr. Stark covered for both of them, spouting off something about a grant and an application and the September Foundation. May looked at him with beseeching eyes, asking him why she didn’t know about this as Peter put the pieces together.

“What did I apply for again?”

He did not put them together well.

After some more discussion, and a flirt attempt from Mr. Stark that went terribly wrong, he found himself alone in his bedroom with the superhero. At this point, Peter had enough bad karma to reincarnate as a cockroach. He decided he would just be as up front as possible because he really, really didn’t want to take something he hadn’t earned. Peter had learned that the strings attached were always messy.

Besides, he couldn’t do his job—well, _jobs_ —with Iron Man looking over his shoulder.

Also, the fact that Mr. Stark was kind of, _rude,_ made it a little easier to get him out of his hair. His Aunt’s Walnut-Date loaf was one of the best things she could cook. The fact that it was one of the _only_ things she could cook would remain unsaid. Uncle Ben liked it, that should be enough for anyone else. “Look, Mr. Stark, I definitely didn’t apply for your grant—”

Mr. Stark cut him off before he could really get a word in. “Quick question of the rhetorical variety,” he said, pulling out his phone and projecting an image of Peter stopping a carjacking. “That’s you, right?” Peter could swear his heart stopped as he watched himself swing away in his suit.

_Lie, Parker. Lie. Quick!_ Mr. Stark wasn’t having it, pulling up another video.

“Look at you go. Wow!” Peter remembered that day. His friend Cindy was in that car. “Nice catch. 3000 pounds, 40 miles an hour. That’s not easy,” he said smoothly, kindly. Peter narrowed his eyes. He knew this technique. For a minute, all he could hear was Mr. Wesley—praising him, teaching him—a kind man who offered him a safe way home from a time long ago when he was unable to see it for the manipulation it was. It set Peter’s teeth on edge. He was better than this now.

“That’s all on YouTube, though, right?” Peter said, pushing past him to fiddle with some stuff on his desk. “I mean, that’s where you found that.” Mr. Stark gave a short nod and glanced around the room. “’Cause that’s all fake.” Mr. Stark looked disappointed but nodded in agreement, offering another example about UFOs and Peter was relieved that he threw the man off track. Then he heard the creak of his attic panel and the fall of his suit. Quickly, he leaped forward to grab the offensive garment and shove it away in his closet. After a moment of silence Peter sighed and gathered his courage, looking Mr. Stark in the eye. He puffed himself up for the oncoming accusation and demand that he sign those stupid Accords.

“So,” Mr. Stark started, moving into Peter’s space. “You’re the Spider…ling,” Peter deflated. “The Crime Fighting Spider,” why would Tony Stark know his alter-ego’s name? _No one_ knew his name. _Oy._ “Spider-Boy?”

“Spider-Man,” Peter said, reluctantly. Which opened up a chance for Mr. Stark to attack his suit. Peter scowled upset the man called it a onesie. Peter worked hard on it, and not everyone had millions of dollars at their disposal.

“I can’t believe this. I was actually having a really good day today, you know, Mr. Stark?” he said after pushing past him again. “Didn’t miss my train, I got a week off from my internship _with_ pay, I found that DVD player just sitting there, and my calculus test—nailed it.”

Mr. Stark took a minute to assess him, like he was reading a diagnostic report. “Who else knows? Anybody?” and Peter was sure this was another trap, certain that Iron Man knew of his seedy dealings in Hell’s Kitchen and was trying to see if Peter would come clean about it, and for a minute Peter wanted to. He wanted _so much_ for someone else to just come and fix this for him, to get Fisk and Wesley and all that off his back so he could be normal—at least as normal as a spider-themed vigilante could be.

Iron Man wasn’t that guy, though. He was an _Avenger._ Avengers signed documents to allow governments to target people who didn’t ask for their abilities. Avengers supported doctrines that forced people to register their genetic information (the most basic, private thing about a person) like a scene from that old movie, _Gattaca_. Avengers didn’t help people like him. They put people like him in jail when they weren’t ignoring them, depending on the _threat level_ they presented. The news was pretty clear about that, and Peter was pretty sure the ability to stop a 3000-pound car going ten above the speed limit without breaking a sweat was a considered a high threat. Even if it weren’t, if Mr. Fisk ever found out he opened his mouth….

Well.

“Nobody,” Peter said with a shake of his head. Then Mr. Stark started asking about what May knew, and Peter couldn’t let her get in trouble for something he did that she had no idea about, which led him to attempt to explain their dynamic—what happened to them—but Mr. Stark didn’t seem to care. Once he got his answer, he launched into another question about Peter’s webfluid, then his abilities. Peter was getting the sense that Mr. Stark not only knew nothing about his illegal activities—besides being a vigilante—but also didn’t care one way or another about him on a personal level. To test it he started to go into the story about being bit at Oscorp—usually someone got invested in an origin story if they were really interested. After speaking for about two seconds, Mr. Stark started in on his suit again, this time questioning why he had to filter his lenses, poking and prodding at the innerworkings of the swim goggles. Peter wondered why he bothered to get his hopes up in the first place. Finally, they got to the _why_ of the billionaire’s visit. Tony wanted to help him, supposedly.

_Yeah, right._

The last time someone wanted to help him, he ended up beaten half the death before he discovered he was working for a Crime Boss.

“Why are you doing this? I gotta know. What’s your MO? What makes you get out of that twin bed in the morning?”

Peter could have said anything. He could have told the whole truth of it, that he had to do extra good to alleviate his guilt. For every bad guy (and they were _bad,_ Kingpin knew that despite the threats he laid over Peter’s head, Peter couldn’t hurt an innocent person) he brought to Hell’s Kitchen for violating some agreement or other with Wilson Fisk, he had to save at least ten people to make up for it. Every moment he noticed himself emulating Mr. Wesley he had to catch someone nasty and throw them behind bars. He still felt the weight of the gun in his hands from when he was about to shoot Uncle Ben’s murderer—and he was forever indebted to a wolf in sheep’s clothing who stopped him from making such a terrible choice; a man who later tried to kill him. He still saw his uncle bleeding out in front of him, still felt his warm, sticky blood on his hands, still heard Uncle Ben’s last words and wanted to know _why_ he couldn’t have saved him—wished he could have gone back to fix it so _none_ of this could happen—

Peter took a deep breath, in through his nose, and out of his mouth. “When you can do the things that I can, but you don’t, and then bad things happen, they happen because of you.” Tony leaned forward against his knees, searching his face for some unknown answer Peter supposedly had. 

“So you want to look out for the little guy. You want to do your part to make the world a better place. All that, right?” Tony asked, very solemnly. Peter stared at him and nodded slightly, hoping it would be enough to get Mr. Stark off his back.

Mr. Stark stood up and walked over, looking entirely uncomfortable. Peter looked up at him, pondering his movements until the man asked him to slide over so he could sit next to him on his bed. After a long, uncomfortable moment of sitting next to each other, Mr. Stark clapped a friendly hand on Peter’s shoulder. Peter resisted the urge to flinch. He knew this move, too. 

“Got a passport?” Peter stammered out a negative as Mr. Stark kept going. “Have you ever been to Germany? Oh, you’ll love it.”

A lightbulb flickered to life in his mind and Peter realized that Mr. Stark was asking him for something. The ever-present string made itself known. He was interested in Peter, so much so he was willing to give him an upgrade—whatever the hell that meant—but not because he helped the little guy.

Peter firmed up. He stared down James Wesley on a bad day. He got his ass handed to him by Wilson Fisk and lived. He was made of steel. “I can’t go to Germany.”

“Why?”

So, so, _so_ many reasons that Peter couldn’t even _begin_ to go into, the first being that he only had until the end of this week to catch Larson and drag him back to Kingpin. He finally had that guy pinned down to one area. “I got… homework.” _Sure Parker, that’s one way to put it._

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that,” Mr. Stark said as he stood up and walked to the door. Peter tried again, keeping to his guns about staying in New York. Until Stark brought May into it.

He webbed Tony Stark to his doorknob, making it perfectly clear what he thought about Tony telling his aunt _anything._

Which led to an uncomfortable car ride with the grumpy driver (“Happy, meet the kid. Kid, this is Happy,”) Peter saw not twenty minutes earlier.

It also led to an even _more_ uncomfortable—and slightly terrifying—six-hour flight. Once they actually landed, they went to a pretty fancy hotel. Peter was glad to be able to rest—but Mr. Happy was insistent that he get ready now. Peter sighed and threw on his suit. At least he was used to being told to get to work, no questions asked. Peter was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to be here, and not just because of his own discomfort. Not once did anyone mention _anything_ about the Accords or signing them. All Iron Man said was that Captain America went crazy, and that he was wrong but thought he was right, so he was dangerous. Peter didn’t have an inkling to what was going on. The last thing he heard about Captain America was that he was seen in London for an old friend’s funeral. Peter didn’t think he could handle any more surprises today.

The suit was a big surprise.

Fighting Steve Rogers wasn’t so much a surprise as a suspension in disbelief that had started when he stole the man’s shield and ended when the superhero dropped a jetway bridge on him. Peter had a hard time reconciling him with the nice—but stern—man he met in Brooklyn.

Then that guy who could get little got _real_ big, _real_ quick, and everything spiraled out of control. After all was said and done, Peter was pretty sure the little-big guy gave him a concussion. He laid on the tarmac, gasping for breath as an armored but helmetless Tony Stark hovered over him, concern etched over his features. “Okay kid, you’re done,” he said. Peter couldn’t agree more. Before it could all sink in, Peter was in the back of a different Audi (still tricked-out), wondering how the hell this was his life.

The teenager tuned back in when Mr. Stark told Happy to grab _“Peter’s suit.”_ He blinked and swallowed, stunned.

“I can keep the suit?”

“Don’t do anything I would do, and _definitely_ don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. There’s a small grey area. That’s where you operate.” Wait, why did Mr. Stark want him to keep the suit? Why did it sound like he was giving him a directive for his Spider-Man patrols? Did Iron Man want Peter to work for him?

Peter felt a chill go up his spine. _No freaking way._ If Kingpin found out he left his job to go after some other priority without clearing it with him, he would at the very _least_ be upset. If he found out Peter was working for _Iron Man?_ There might not be anything left of Peter to find.

Not only that, but Peter knew what it meant to accept a gift like that, because it wasn’t really a _gift._ It was a down payment. It was a tool used for barter. Peter was already working for a crime boss on the downlow. He couldn’t work for Tony Stark too. Those things did not go together. He would get caught. He would get caught, and then he would either be killed or imprisoned indefinitely, and May—

“I can’t take it.”

“Come again?” Mr. Stark lowered his glasses and raised an eyebrow at him.

“I can’t keep the suit. Really, Mr. Stark, it’s _so_ amazing, but I can’t. There’s no way I can do anything to pay you back, it’s too much.” It was. It cost more than Peter’s full ride at Midtown. It cost more than his future education would. It cost more than the value of every single gift he received from Mr. Fisk combined, and that included his ongoing stipend for his internship. He would be indebted to Mr. Stark forever. At lease with the Kingpin there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Eventually Peter wouldn’t be needed, and he would have proved his loyalty enough to get free. He saw it—other people who struck out on their own that Mr. Fisk willingly let go. The teenager could only offer his own efforts, and quite frankly between the good citizens of New York and the Kingpin, he didn’t have any blood, sweat, or tears left to give.

Mr. Stark stared at him until a knock at the window made Peter jump out of his skin. Peter turned to see Happy heaving the case up and looking at them. Tony gestured for Happy to go up while Peter shook his head vehemently. Happy glanced between the two of them before setting the case down and moving toward his door. He did not climb back into the vehicle.

“You’re not keeping the suit?”

“I _can’t._ ”

“You’ll find you can. It’s rude to refuse a gift, kid.”

“I know. I know and I’m sorry Mr. Stark, but—”

“Nope. No-no-no you know it’s rude, so we both agree there. You need to take it. When the billionaire gives you something scot-free, no strings, you take it, Parker. That’s a life lesson for you—”

“Nothing is no strings!” Peter shouted hotly, before shrinking back, shocked at what burst from his mouth. Mr. Stark eyed him again, and he felt his heartrate spike.

“Care to elaborate on that?” he asked casually, not breaking eye contact.

“I-I-I don’t… uh… that is…” suddenly he heard Mr. Wesley’s voice in his head, teaching him about lying. The easiest way to lie was to not lie at all. _Deflection, Mr. Parker, is going to be the most useful thing in your particular repertoire._ “Remember that really old movie—”

“Look kid, life isn’t like a movie.” Peter shut his mouth and swallowed. “But you’re right, most of the time when someone gives you something, they expect something in return. Very savvy. Very street smart. I like it. It’s a good look on you.” Peter hesitantly nodded. Mr. Stark continued on before he could speak. “So here’s the deal. That suit has some conditions if it will be left with you. First off, you operate during normal hours. If I hear from Aunt Hottie that you’re breaking curfew because of my influence, there’s gonna be a problem. Second, you stay on the ground, and leave the big guns to the people who work above your paygrade. Lastly, you stay alive. That suit is to save your skin and keep you operating as a friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man. Capisce?”

Peter looked Mr. Stark in the eye unsure of what to say. Mr. Stark rolled his eyes and shook his head a little.  


“ _Jesus,_ Underoos, I can’t send you back out there in a onesie. You get _shot at_ , okay? Ease an old man’s heart condition and just keep the suit. Happy is your point guy on this, so try not to stress him out. We’ll call you.” With that, Mr. Stark leaned forward and grabbed the door, letting Peter out.

Peter stood on the sidewalk after the billionaire drove away, holding the case in one hand and his duffle in the other, trying to make sense of the last 28 hours and finding he couldn’t. A car alarm went off in the distance, and Peter shook himself before turning around and climbing up the steps to his building. He had so much to do. He still needed to get Larson up to Kingpin before Daredevil found his hiding place. He had three finals left—all in his worst subjects—and he had to figure out what the hell he was going to say to May about this “retreat.” A thread of fear worked its way through his heart.

_They’re gonna call me._

God help him when they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Writing Notes:  
> 1\. Is Peter too young to remember the no-no square? I know I’m too old to remember the no-no square, but my niece who was around 18 in 2016 learned it in elementary school… where was the cutoff? 
> 
> 2\. Notice how Francis made his way into the tags? He’s such a background character, I didn’t realize he’s been in it since chapter one. I was like whaaaaat?
> 
> 3\. Matt and Foggy weren’t supposed to make an appearance. Daredevil was a soft maybe in being relevant to the plot later. Seriously. Things have been taken out of order for those of you who watched Daredevil on Netflix (you know, technically this meeting happens during the same timeframe/just before Wilson buys the Rabbit in the Snowstorm, but that kind of happened a lot earlier—you know, Vanessa turned up? Don’t think about it). I… I think it will be important later. 
> 
> 4\. Hey uh, Pete? You… ~glances at outline~ you’re not supposed to start embracing this mob lifestyle. You’re supposed to hold onto your ideals and you know, be bitter. Peter? Petey-pie, what are you doing with all that cocaine and those firearms? Hey buddy? Buddy? BUDDY!  
> No, seriously. He was not supposed to behave this way. This has been developing since last chapter. I get the feeling it’s going to continue. He might need a reminder to stay away from the dark side. I mean on the one hand, force lightening, but on the light side you get the chance to be a ghost, so….
> 
> 5\. Can’t you just imagine how much Peter would be freaking out when he met Tony? I mean, he was freaking out in canon. Now he’s doing all this shady shit—oof. I loved this sequence in Civil War and Homecoming so much. I really wanted to include it with a twist. Oh, by the way: Hi Tony. Nice of you to show up. ;-)
> 
> 6\. So I get the feeling Sony and Marvel Studios didn’t pay that much attention to each other’s scripts. You know. The timeline is terrible. Homecoming happened two months later, but school would have been out at the end of June, which would mean Homecoming should have happened in June or July at the absolute latest. Most high schools in the US start at the end of August/beginning of September, and a Homecoming dance DOES NOT HAPPEN before the end of October, and the whole movie took over the span of 2-3 weeks, and that’s a fairly generous estimate. Not only that, but the nationals for Decathlon are dated for the middle of October. I mean, I guess you could argue Civil War took place in August, but Peter said he took a test and had homework… I mean, talk about an early start to a school year. Also, Peter is in algebra in Civil War, but in Homecoming he’s at a STEM school for smart smarties. Yeah. I don’t buy it. I made some adjustments. 
> 
> 7\. Hey, hey calm down. Peter still loves Tony. He just doesn’t know it. Because you know, once bitten, twice shy. Shhhhhhh it’s gonna be okay.
> 
> 8\. Remember in Gattaca when Vincent almost gets done in by an [eyelash?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Z-MzwPzpBk) Remember???  
> For those of you who don't know Gattaca, I have no words. Just go watch it. You'll get what I'm saying.
> 
> 9\. You know that scene in Rick Potion # 9, where Morty is just… [done?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zNa4NKFE6wE) That overall disconnect was the feel I was going for.  
> On a side note, I really want to read (or write if no one else does it) a fic in an alternate universe that follows the same story type as Rick and Morty, with Tony as Rick and Peter as Morty. And then MCU Tony and Peter meet Rick and Morty Tony and Peter (because they BOTH do infinite realities/universes) and they're like "...wtf?" It would make me giggle. Does this exist? It should exist. 
> 
> 10\. After everything that’s happened to Peter with Fisk, let’s be real. He wouldn’t trust any gift ever again. Seriously. A billionaire giving him a multi-million-dollar suit for funsies? There’s gotta be a reason for it other than his own wellbeing. Peter knows better now, remember? Fisk did a number on him. He doesn’t believe that anything is free, and he will have a hard time unlearning that. Also, he’s a made man. He don’t work for Tony. He’s already got a boss. If he gets seen wearing new threads from someone trying to recruit him? Do you think that would end well? He certainly doesn’t. 
> 
> Thanks everyone for your continued enjoyment and support of this story. For random updates, asks, prompts, or whatever else, feel free to find me on tumblr [@hanuko.](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Please leave a comment or Kudos to let me know what you thought!
> 
> Thanks for reading. :-)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony reflects on the puzzle that is Peter Parker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!
> 
> I'm really grateful for the Kudos and Comments last chapter. Can you believe we're almost at 100? For such a niche story?
> 
> Thanks for staying with me for the ride.
> 
> Here we have Tony's POV. Hope I do him justice. 
> 
> ***Warnings***  
>  _Some anti-Semitic behavior is afoot._  
>  Anti-Starker ideas are present (see Fun Writing Notes: #6 for more info).

Tony frowned as he tinkered away in his lab, puzzling over the enigma that was Peter Parker. He had never met someone who managed to be both enamored with and wary of him simultaneously, before. The billionaire knew where he stood with the aunt. She made her feelings clear the second he walked through the door. The woman was blunt, and despite the hippy-dippy vibe he picked up from the place, she made it clear she was a sharp woman with a quick tongue and protective spirit, and she was not inclined to feed her nephew to the corporate wolves that Tony seemed to represent. Underoos, on the other hand was much more difficult to figure out, which was all the more frustrating ( _interesting_ ) because Tony was _good_ at figuring things out.

The kid was shy and bashful—all stutters and blushes when he recognized the man. The idolization and hero-worship was plain as day. Tony was sure he understood how to deal with him the second he received that reaction. He felt a little bad, manipulating a kid like that, but needs must. He could feel guilty about it later, between thinking about the reasons Pepper left him and why no one could understand that the Accords would help them, in the end. Steve had gone nuts. He had forgotten about what was important, and what was at stake. Tony needed a heavy hitter to stop him and Peter Parker—shy, young and eager to please—was a shoe-in. A freshman in high school hearing that the one and only Tony Stark knew his secret identity? Confronting him and getting him over to his side would be a cakewalk.

The boy surprised him, though. He immediately shot him down about the grant, not wanting any part of it. When Tony showed him that first video, claiming to know that it was Peter behind the mask, the kid denied it so sincerely he could have won an Oscar. His eyes got all wide and innocent, and he barely stuttered—even laughed. Tony knew how to play this kind of game, though. He recognized that spark of admiration and the thirst to prove himself in the kid—nearly every young man had it—and when he analyzed what he knew about him ( _orphan, straight-A student, recipient of a very impressive internship with Wilson Fisk_ ), he was sure that the way to get him on his side was praise and approval. But Peter proved him wrong. The second he started to _ooh_ and _ahh_ his abilities, the boy shut down. His whole demeanor shifted from warm to cold in a heartbeat. It was subtle, too. If Tony wasn’t watching him closely, he probably would have missed it.

The kid even had the audacity to ask Tony if he knew the stuff posted on YouTube was fake, and he did it looking him in the eye. If Tony wasn’t _absolutely certain_ this kid was the Spiderling—no, _Spider-Man_ —he would have believed him. Thankfully, he had some predictable behaviors. The best place to hide a superhero suit would be in the ceiling crawl space; it was the least suspicious place, and people would only access it for maintenance purposes. Tony smirked when he found it, ready to list his demands, waiting for the kid to brush is off and stammer an excuse when he pulled it from the philanthropist’s hands. His smile faltered though, when he saw Parker’s demeanor. He straightened up, and looked him dead in the eye, frown on his face. He looked like he was ready for a fight and wouldn’t back down. He defended his onesie with a fierce resolve that made Tony a little proud—and really, with what the kid had at his disposal, the suit was impressive. Tony also was a little surprised by his maturity. Most kids his age would be using those powers to benefit themselves. Peter used it to help others. His reasoning was vague, but Tony could read between the lines. He knew the kid must have seen something awful to feel responsible for so many because of his powers. He was just what Tony needed to get Steve to see reason.

Then the kid didn’t want to go to Germany.

What teenager didn’t want to go with a billionaire on an adventure half-way across the world?

What _person,_ regardless of age _,_ in the history of everything Tony ever knew, didn’t want to go with a billionaire on an adventure half-way across the world?

Clearly, the answer to that question was _Peter Parker._

Tony didn’t think he’d have to resort to threatening the kid’s secret identity to get him to come along. He may have kept Iron Man a secret for all of two seconds, but he understood the value of keeping his identity hidden. Before he was Iron Man, he was recognized, sure, but it was minor in the grand scheme of things. It wasn’t like he was a movie star, or anything. Once he became Iron Man—once he revealed himself as Iron Man—the amount of people who stopped him on the street for an autograph or a selfie was alarming. The kid didn’t need that kind of stress, and Tony never had the intention of telling his aunt anything, especially considering what he learned about this family’s troubles. Peter didn’t know that though, and again, needs must. He had to have someone else on his side that was strong, quick, and smart, and Spider-Man was just the guy to call.

He was brilliant, too. The way he handled the Falcon and the Winter Soldier was on point. Tony couldn’t fault his technique. At first, he wanted to scold the boy for all the chatter he kept throwing around, until he noticed that it was distracting his opponents to the point that they couldn’t land a proper hit on him. It was too bad that same tactic didn’t work on Steve. Then again, the kid didn’t seem to have his heart in it as much, when facing Spangles directly. He had a feeling that if he wanted to, Underoos could have laid Steve out, no problem. Probably pretty quickly, too. The kid was _good._

And the Star Wars plan? Absolutely brilliant. Tony wouldn’t have thought of it in a million years.

Well, he probably would have thought of it eventually, but by the time it would have crossed his mind, it would have been too late, and he never would have gotten a chance to catch up with Steve in Siberia.

Despite how much help Spider-Man was, though, he was also way too young to be there, and Tony couldn’t believe he didn’t think about that until he saw the teenager flung across the tarmac from a hundred feet in the air straight to the ground. Tony thought his heart had stopped as he went over, seeing the boy lying very still on the asphalt. He was incredibly relieved to see Spider-Man alive and kicking, panic running through his now exposed brown eyes—well, eye—until he realized it was Tony trying to turn him over. The fact that he just chuckled and said it was scary, and nothing else? It was a little unnerving. He showed a remarkable amount of maturity when Tony benched him. He knew grown men who wouldn’t stay down during a fight despite their injuries or mental state—himself included. Parker though, he had a decent head for this sort of thing. He was aware of his limits and kept to them.

Not the kind of attitude he expected from a teenage vigilante.

Peter was up to date on current events, too; more so than Tony liked. The first thing he asked Tony was who else knew about him, and if he had to sign the Accords. Tony gaped at him a little, surprised that he even knew about them, or that he would potentially have to sign. Tony sighed and said they would cross that bridge when they came to it, but Peter was adamant. He wanted to know what would happen to him. Would he have to give his identity to the government? Did it matter that he was underage? Would he even be considered a person anymore? He refused to be under the thumb of someone like Thaddeus Ross. He went after muggers for a reason, and that reason was important.

_“Mr. Stark, no one else looks after regular people. The cops can only do so much. There are kids that are kidnapped right off the street and sold to human traffickers. It’s modern day slavery! If I’m not there to stop it, who will?” He said, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his seat on the flight back while Tony stared at him incredulously. “You guys won’t—never have. Captain America is always dealing with some Hydra conspiracy or other, you’ve got to worry about megalomaniacs with crazy tech, and all of you have to clean up when there are aliens falling from the sky. When Mr. Delmar gets robbed, none of you help, and cops respond on average in two to seven minutes. You know how quickly a bullet can kill someone? I do. I_ have _to help them. There’s nobody else who can.”_

Tony was baffled. He waved away the kid’s concerns, saying that was all unnecessary worry on his part. Peter was not satisfied with that response. He frowned the whole rest of the way back, not looking at Tony and merely giving short nods or grunts in response to the man’s questions when he wasn’t staring silently into space. The kid was entirely too serious, and he looked exhausted; he was way too tired for a high school student, even with the vigilante side-hustle. The bags under his eyes had bags. Tony was concerned when he really looked at him. Did he have those bags when Tony first recruited him? As the billionaire spent more time with the teenager, he found himself becoming more worried by the minute. He wanted to help him in anyway he could. He decided in that moment that he needed to give Parker every edge possible, if only so the kid could breathe a little easier. It may not be the most responsible thing, but Tony designed that suit for Peter. He would let him keep it. It would make his life a little easier (and put Tony’s mind at ease).

When Peter refused his gift, Tony was shocked.

The kid _loved_ the suit. He made that clear when Happy showed it to him (Happy reported the kid’s reaction with an eyeroll and some irritated grumbling). He may not have said a word to Tony about it, but that suit and him were a pair made in heaven. Tony couldn’t have designed something better for the webslinger if he tried. Well, okay he could have, given some more time (and probably would in the future), but the way the kid intuitively grasped the controls, and the new freedom he moved with? It was fantastic. The only thing Tony didn’t try to mess with was the webfluid itself—that was clearly designed with more art than science, but everything else was well worth it, and the kid took to it like a duck to water. He moved with an ease that he had lacked in every video recording Tony had of him. That suit was _perfect._ How could Peter not want to keep it? It was one of the coolest things the engineer had ever designed (and he designed a lot of things). The boy’s reasoning boiled down to one word. 

Strings.

What fourteen (fifteen? Tony should figure that out) year-old thought about strings attached?

Not only that, he was also extremely suspicious of Tony. The kid’s doubts started in his bedroom in his apartment in Queens, and increased more and more with every moment of shared time between them. Tony couldn’t imagine what Peter thought he’d want from him. Well, he could think of some pretty _awful_ things, but Tony was an eccentric genius, not a pedophilic pervert. He knew people said terrible things about him, but he was fairly certain that there was never a rumor about him raping and/or molesting children. He was _very_ obvious with his enjoyment of _mature_ people. Not kids with fresh acne scars.

_Ew._

Then again, maybe Peter had some heavy hits in his life that he hadn’t recovered from yet. He was still really young, and he had a kindhearted nature that would be easy to take advantage of. Maybe the boy had put his trust in someone, and it didn’t turn out well for him. Granted, on the surface it didn’t seem like anyone would gain much from manipulating the kid like that (unless you knew about Spider-Man), but someone could have easily used him. There were stranger things that occurred every day in this universe.

Case in point, Tony had heard there were wizards in New York, recently.

_Wizards._

When Tony offered him the suit and listened to his blatant rejection, he saw that kid’s expression; there was discontent and wariness and _fear_ in his big, brown, bottomless cow eyes. Tony almost let it go. He was ready to say, _“Okay,”_ and have Happy pack the thing away. He could wait until Peter was a little older to take on the mantle of Avenger-in-training. But this kid was still Spider-Man, and yeah, he dealt with low-key criminals (muggers, rapists, bicycle thieves), but they were still dangerous. They were still armed. A sweat-suit with some shitty shin guards sewn in was not enough to protect him from bullets. Not only that, but Tony gave him a taste of playing with the big boys, and that was something people like them had a hard time forgetting. He would get reckless—more reckless then he already was—and that would be on Tony. He couldn’t let it slide.

So when FRIDAY reported there had been no activity in the Spider-Man suit since their fight in Berlin over a week ago, but the news showed several sightings of the webslinger, Tony had to intervene. The whole point of making him keep the suit was to protect the kid when he went out and about doing his “patrols.” After some avid compiling of footage from security and traffic cameras, he managed to narrow down his search for the vigilante in a 10 block radius in Hell’s Kitchen. Manhattan was a long way off from Queens, but at least Tony didn’t have to go far to have some words with the reluctant teenager. He might include some about staying in his own backyard.

Tony actually caught sight of the kid cornering some guy in an alley as he flew overhead. Tony turned around and landed on the sidewalk just outside of the alley to find the kid shaking his head and writing something on a piece of debris that was most likely pulled from the nearby dumpster. He obscured himself behind a wall, peering down the alleyway. He wanted a chance to see the kid in action again.

Hearing him quip with The Falcon and The Winter Soldier was hilarious.

“Come on, Spider-Guy—”

“Spider-Man, Jack. I took the time to learn your name, do me the same courtesy,” the boy replied easily, scribbling something with a flourish. The tall, thin man with pale skin and scraggly brown facial hair was webbed to the wall, both hands pinned up by his head. He pulled against his restraints, grunting a little.

“Spider-Man,” the crook—Jack—corrected himself. “I told you what I know, you can’t just leave me here like this, man.”

“Jack, Jack, Jack,” Spider-Man said with a shake of his head. He pressed the debris against the man’s chest and webbed it there. “You and I both knew it was gonna go down like this. Let’s not lie to ourselves, ‘kay? It was a good night—I mean, some flowers would have been nice, but overall, I had fun. Didn’t you?”

“Spider-Man—”

“Nope,” Peter said firmly, shaking his head. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m tired, man. It’s been a very long, very weird couple of weeks, and I gotta wrap things up here because _Shavuot_ starts tomorrow night, alright? I need to go home and get some shuteye.”

The man scowled. “Of course you’re some money-grubbing Jew—” Peter webbed the man’s mouth shut immediately.

“ _Oy vey_ ,” the boy sighed, hands on his hips. “We had such a great rapport going. Then you had to spoil it by being a bigot. See what happens when you’re a bigot?” he said. “Anyway, buddy, thanks for the info. Cops will be here when they get here. That webbing dissolves in two hours, though, so maybe you’ll get lucky.” Tony pulled himself forward and stood in the mouth of the alleyway, smirking at the criminal’s eyes widening at his appearance.

“Probably not, Spider-Man,” he said. Peter flinched and spun around. Tony could almost see the kid’s expression. His whole body looked surprised, and oddly tense. “FRIDAY, contact the authorities. Tell them we’ve got a—” he craned his head around to get a good look at the sign, “—drug dealer that needs to be picked up. Kid, do you really have to insult the town you’re in?” Tony sighed, shaking his head. Peter stared at him a moment before looking back at the sign, which read, _Drug Dealer number 10—you guys need to get a handle on all the self-medication. <3 Spidey. _

He honestly wrote a _<_ and a _3_ in the shape of a heart, like some goddamn gen-z text.

Maybe it was a millennial text.

Whatever. It was a stupid way to symbolize a heart.

The kid shrugged when he turned back to Tony. “Well, I’ve found a lot of dealers out here, Mr. Stark.”

Tony chuckled and gestured with his head up to the roof. “Got a sec?” Peter nodded and shot his webs, pulling and crawling his way up to the rooftop Tony pointed out. Tony beat the kid there, despite the head start, and waited in the middle of the roof for the wallcrawler to show up. He was there in less then a minute, gracefully pulling himself over the edge that made Tony a little jealous. He found himself missing the ease that came with being young.

Well, okay, so maybe it also was the fact that he had weird, crazy spider-like agility, but youth was an important factor.

“So…” the boy began, waiting for Tony to say what he wanted to say. “Mr. Stark, I got some important stuff I need to do, and I really need to get it done before tomorrow evening because May and I have a thing—I mean, I don’t know what you heard down there, but I’ve got a long weekend ahead of me. Can you tell me what the heck you need to talk about?” Peter rambled, folding his arms over his chest. “Also, the stalking thing is a little weird, and I’m lowkey upset about it, not gonna lie.”

Tony blinked as he processed the teen’s words, not sure if he was joking. He wished the kid’s mask was off so he could get a better read on him. “Well, you’re not wearing the suit,” he said, slowly. Peter cocked his head to the side. “I distinctly remember giving you a suit and asking you to wear it. Remember? Criminals shoot you? My heart condition? Happy’s EKG?”

“You never mentioned an EKG.”

“See this face?” Tony asked, having the faceplate and helmet open up to reveal his expression. “This is the face of someone who is not amused.”

Peter deflated slightly. “Mr. Stark—”

“Oh no, I can’t say I like that tone. It sounds like you’re going to say you _can’t_ or _won’t_ wear the suit that will offer a lot more protection from bullets then sweatpants.” Peter shifted a little at that. “Kid, if you’re not gonna take me seriously—”

“What?” Peter lashed out quickly, straightening up. “You’ll give my name to your buddy Ross?” Tony felt a flicker of annoyance and he scowled at the mention of the Secretary of State. God, was every enhanced person he came across going to be this hostile because of his agreement to the Accords? Tony was willing to sign them, too. He was just as much on the hook as anyone else. More so, really, He actually had the funds to pay for the things the Avengers (and others) would be held accountable for. It wasn’t like he would leave them hanging out to dry. He had some plans to rework the wording and legality of the documents to offer protection for mutants.

He was working especially hard on that, ever since he saw the conditions of The Raft.

“Me and Ross are not ‘buddies,’” he said, quoting the word with his fingers in the air.

“Could have fooled me,” Peter retorted.

“Kid—”

“Mr. Stark, I’ve been doing this for _months._ I don’t need your high-tech suit, okay? I’m fine on my own.” The boy stood firmly, shaking his head and not budging in the slightest. Tony wanted to scream at how frustrating this was. How could Peter possibly think that he was safe enough doing what he did in that getup he ran around in? His webshooters didn’t even have an indicator to show if he was low on webfluid! What if he was stories above the ground (like now) and his webbing just gave out on him, mid-swing? It made the billionaire shudder just thinking about it.

Tony sighed and opened the suit, climbing out. Peter stepped back, surprised by the move. Tony put on his most serious expression. Time for the big guns.

“Yeah? And what’s May gonna do if they find your body shot up in an alley somewhere?” Peter stilled completely, tension radiating off of him. “How the hell do you think she’ll cope if she loses the only family she has left? You talk a big game, Spider-Man, but you’re not infallible. If you’re not gonna protect yourself for you, you should at least do it for her.”

Peter took a step backwards, then another. “I—I gotta go.”

Tony held out his hand and took a couple of steps toward him. “Pete—”

“Don’t follow me anymore,” the boy said curtly before flinging himself off the roof and swinging away. Tony sighed. That could have gone better. He shook his head, got back in his suit, and flew home, wondering if he laid the guilt on a little too thick. Probably, considering the kid’s reaction. _Stupid,_ he thought. Peter just wouldn’t listen. Tony tried and tried to get through, but he struggled to connect with the teenager on a basic level. He was willing to bet the kid hadn’t even fiddled with the spider-light he snuck into his webshooters. He probably missed Tony’s message to join him at the lab entirely. Or worse, he saw the message and ignored it, and had decided Tony wasn’t worth his time, which would definitely be a new low for him.

He wished he could talk to Steve about the kid. They were stubborn in the exact same way. Capsicle would know exactly how to get through to him. Tony groaned and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, ready to tear his hair out. Nothing was going the way it was supposed to. Steve was supposed to understand what the hell Tony was talking about with the Accords and side with him. Yeah, they’d be working with Ross who was an asshole, but better the asshole you knew than the asshole you didn’t. One day they were on the same page, then all of a sudden, he waltzed in and started spouting off about mutant rights and government control without giving Tony a chance to explain how they would be able to fix it, then he left the way he came.

Then Natasha left him hanging high and dry in the middle of a fight where he was counting on her, with a 28-hour deadline hanging over his head. He _knew_ Ross was going to capture them up if he didn’t deliver Barnes. He _knew_ his friends would be trapped some godforsaken prison that he would most likely have a very difficult time breaking them out of. His fellow Avengers were locked up, and his best friend—his brother—was paralyzed because Tony involved him in the whole mess. Of course, to top it all off, Steve lied to Tony. He _lied_ to Tony about something so integral to his life and being, and it was all for a traitor. When did Steve get to decide what Tony was and wasn’t allowed to know about his parents’ deaths? But no, he knew best, and he chose which friend was more valuable—and if that friend was a double agent, so what? Tony shook his head, frustrated and hurt and _confused_ by the whole thing. Yes, the Winter Soldier used to be Bucky Barnes, but that ship had sailed a long time ago. It wasn’t like how Barton was spelled by Loki. Magic could be undone. Brainwashing? _Hydra brainwashing?_ No dice. Steve was adamant, though. He protected Barnes to the point that he was willing to leave Tony for dead in the frozen wasteland that was the abandoned Hydra base in Siberia. Thank God FRIDAY had a protocol to alert his backup armor to get him out of there.

Tony didn’t think his heart could break anymore after Pepper.

How very wrong he was.

He could only hope that this thing with Peter was going to be okay. His reluctance to accept help was going to kill him. Tony didn’t care if the kid liked it or not, he was going to watch out for him. He dragged him into this mess. He would sure as hell make sure the kid could navigate through it as safely as possible. As far as Tony was concerned, Peter was his responsibility. The boy’s words from their first meeting echoed in his head. Tony had the power to do a lot of things, both good and bad. If he didn’t use that power to protect Peter, and something bad happened, it would be because of him. He’d back off though, for now. Give the kid some time to think about what Tony said and try to let him come to the same conclusion on his own. If he didn’t, Tony would find a way to force the kid to have an epiphany.

Not that epiphanies worked that way, but still.

Tony watched the local news all weekend, looking for anything Spider-Man related and coming up short. FRIDAY hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him through her own monitoring systems. The man briefly wondered if he put the kid off the superhero gig entirely before shaking the worry away. Even if he had (which he was sure he hadn’t—people like them couldn’t stop doing this gig), that meant Parker was sitting out on his own free will. Being benched meant not getting hurt. If that was the choice he made, Tony could definitely live with it. He decided to set a protocol to alert him if Spider-Man was back in action.

FRIDAY pinged him on Tuesday afternoon.

Tony startled in his lab once FRIDAY sent him the alert, dropping his tools. The billionaire quickly had FRIDAY pull up the source that showed Spider-Man in action, biting his lip in worry. The AI pulled up a local news story about how a jewelry thief was stopped in Queens by Spider-Man. When the image changed to shaky footage that had clearly been taken by a cell phone, Tony gripped the edge of the table he stood at. A slow smile spread over his face as he watched Peter was swinging through Queens in the suit Tony made him. He turned away from the news and had FRIDAY pull up the feed directly from the Arachnid Nanny Networking Enterprise program in the suit itself. Tony sighed in relief when he saw the world through Peter’s eyes. The boy was reaching into a tree to pull a precocious kitten off a high branch, cooing and clicking at it. 

Tony was thankful his words didn’t backfire on him. Yeah, the kid taking a break (permanent or otherwise) from being a superhero would keep him safe, but Spider-Man did a lot of good that the Avengers just didn’t. Tony figured it was more likely that Peter would keep his ridiculous onesie and find a way to send the suit back to the Compound. Considering everything that happened lately, he wouldn’t have been surprised if the kid had completely rejected him like everyone else. He turned off the feed, allowing Peter the usual amount of privacy he had. If he were up to anything dangerous, ANNE would let FRIDAY know. He went back to work, fiddling with some of the finer components of his new project when another thought crossed his mind.

He never found out what on Earth Peter was doing in Hell’s Kitchen.

Tony shrugged. He’d save that question for another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Writing Notes  
> 1\. None of this story was supposed to be told in any perspective except Peter’s. As it went on though, I felt like Peter was becoming an unreliable narrator, and Tony’s involvement is very important to the development of the story. Because of that, it seemed important to give him an interlude here and there. 
> 
> 2\. Tony is not used to hearing the word no, I think. 
> 
> 3\. Oh man, remember the look on Tony’s face when he ran over to Peter in [Civil War?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J87-lpO2bbk) The terror then the relief? I honestly think he forgot Peter was as young as he was. It’s easy to forget when he’s covered head to toe in spandex. Tony was focused on the fight and everything happening, then as soon as Peter went down as hard as he did, he thought he may have gotten a child seriously injured, maybe killed. I wanted to include his perspective on that. 
> 
> 4\. Peter’s been working with Kingpin enough to know when he needs to back off from a fight too big for him and re-strategize. It’s one of the ways he has had to mature faster, in this story. Instead of arguing (like he did in canon), he was perfectly okay sitting the rest of the fight out. 
> 
> 5\. Now that the fight is over, and Tony has to figure out how to save everyone, he’s really observing Peter. He’s not looking at him as a potential teammate/asset anymore, and is seeing him as a kid. Peter would be tired right now, emotionally, mentally, and physically. Tony is starting to notice it, and that secret paternal side to him is coming through. 
> 
> 6\. So, this got a little anti-Starker. Just want to remind peops that in this story (based heavily on the movies with Tom Holland), Tony is a parent-like figure, and as such I think he would be offended if there were rumors that he was trying to make the nasty with a 14/15 year-old. Just saying. 
> 
> 7\. So, I recently came to the realization that Peter is most likely Jewish in canon. I mean, I always wondered, because he speaks a lot of [Yiddish.](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/D8p3IbCWsAAHxZ6.jpg) Also, I've been reading a lot of background info in blogs (I love [@traincat,](https://traincat.tumblr.com/) the comic book knowledge is amazing, there). Then we had the mini wedding scene in Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse, and I wondered if that was specific to Peter B. Parker’s universe, was is it an actual factual thing? So I did some research and came across [this,](https://66.media.tumblr.com/d615f148ebaf2f19920ec5ecd48d9ecd/tumblr_inline_pc7p4mHpqh1rhju2g_500.png) which made me laugh, because Deadpool, but also more evidence. Finally, I came across this [gem,](https://66.media.tumblr.com/6516fc1630d0f6b1d49f6e38836342d8/tumblr_inline_p4m9aatrU01rquizl_540.png) and I said “Okay. He’s Jewish. It’s definitely canon.”
> 
> 8\. Tony is overly salty to the gen-z/millennial kids. I’m not sure why. I think I just thought of all the blogs/chats/memes I see where Peter is all “Yeet!” and Tony is like, “what the actual fuck?” 
> 
> 9\. So I’ve been pretty harsh with Tony and the Accords. In all honesty, I could see him finding a way to protect his friends from the negative ramifications. I just don’t know how far that protection would spread. I also see him reworking the documents and finding a way to make them more friendly to everyone involved. He’s not heartless. He just is thinking of the bigger picture. Details can be changed. 
> 
> 10\. I don't know how real [this is](https://66.media.tumblr.com/8f4c11ddf312969ba3bd6f3b20e7479e/cb237852f1ca33ad-e2/s640x960/ff0403e7a12950d0bae9d1ea3f7f8f84715cfeb3.jpg), but I saw a post with this image on Tumblr, and I just wanted to keep it. Canon or no, Tony inviting Peter over to the lab is now headcanon for me.
> 
> 11\. Like I said before, I don’t like the Accords. They are a very, very bad thing. Tony is wrong. But Steve didn’t have to do him like that. Friends don’t beat up friends and leave them for dead miles away from civilization. 
> 
> Feel free to follow me on Tumblr [@hanuko.](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/) Ask me about the fic. Give me a prompt. Just say hello. ;-)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Please leave me a comment or kudos. I love feedback, and I love hearing from you!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's starting the new school year with a bang.
> 
> Or...
> 
> Peter's friends are starting to feel neglected and want to rectify this, and Peter has a run-in with another vigilante prowling around New York.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...  
> ~glances at outline~
> 
> Hi. 
> 
> You may have noticed I removed the chapter count on this. 
> 
> I've lost control. The story is alive. It has a mind of it's own. There is an end in sight... I know how I _want_ it to end. It's just a question of getting there. The story is about halfway done right now (somewhere between one third and two thirds). 
> 
> In other news...
> 
> YAY THIS IS OVER 100 KUDOS!!! I'm so happy! For such a niche, off-shoot, weird plot idea, getting to 100 was a very nice surprise. 
> 
> I love reading your comments, everyone. They make my week. Please take a minute (if you can) to let me know what you think about the story. I'm really appreciative of it when you do. :-)
> 
> Alright, onto the chapter. Enjoy!

Peter sighed as he adjusted his faux-leather Gucci messenger bag over his shoulder. The first day of school lined up with an internship day, so he was in his designer clothes and carrying a thousand-dollar bag over his shoulder. He told Mr. Wesley this was a surefire way to convince someone to try to mug him, but the man laughed him off and told him he would need to be more comfortable with some of the finer things, not addressing his concern about being attacked on the train at all. Then again, he _was_ Spider-Man. Peter saw that episode of the Flash when Barry Allen got mugged. Peter was pretty sure he would be equally as excited if that happened to him, too.

Besides, he’d most likely fit in a little more than usual with his classmates today, _and_ the bag had a pretty convenient pocket to hide his new suit.

Peter panicked when he had to come clean to Kingpin about Germany, but Mr. Stark had made a good point. He forgot sometimes that he wasn’t invincible. He almost died because of a Spider-Man related thing. The fact that it was someone he was supposed to trust who nearly beat him to death made no difference. Maybe he would have been able to withstand the blows better if he was wearing something more durable, or maybe he could have sent a distress signal to someone. That was something that would be useful if Mr. Fisk every went crazy like that again. All in all, that suit Mr. Stark made was really helpful, especially when dealing with people that were just plain nuts. It was better to have something else that was actually durable to rely on, instead of hoping his spider-sense could tell him when to dodge. Mr. Wesley and Mr. Fisk had proved that it wasn’t infallible.

When he told the large man about his transgression and presented him with the suit, Peter felt fear well up in his chest.

_“Let me get this straight,” the giant rasped, pressing his fingertips together. Peter stood on the other side of the large, mahogany desk in Mr. Fisk’s office, twisting his fingers together and staring at the floor. “You left the country at the whims of none other than Tony Stark, and you sat on it for_ weeks _before you decided to tell me?”_

_“Well it was only two weeks,” Peter said, scuffing his foot along the floor. Mr. Fisk was not amused. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t think—”_

_“That’s right, you didn’t,” Mr. Fisk said curtly. Peter winced at the short tone. Mr. Fisk sighed. “This suit, it looks interesting. Stark designed it himself?”_

_“I think so, sir.”_

_Mr. Fisk hummed in thought, touching the fabric. “Very well, Mr. Parker. I have to say, I can understand the advantage of having something like this on hand. You do very dangerous work, and any additional protection you can be afforded is nothing but beneficial.” Peter looked up in disbelief, letting out a relieved sigh when he saw the smile on Mr. Fisk’s face. “To be honest, I’ve been trying to come up with a discreet way to ask Mr. Davis how to develop something like this for you.”_

_“Really?” Peter asked, his voice cracking a bit._

_“Yes. It seems Stark has done me a favor, in that regard. Be cautious with anything you say or do in this suit though,” he said. Peter blinked, confused by the statement. Mr. Fisk let out a rueful chuckle. “Stark—well he doesn’t trust very easily. Your suit most likely has recording devices and possibly a tracker.” Peter’s heart fell at that and he grimaced. Of course Mr. Stark didn’t just trust him to behave with a multimillion-dollar suit. This was another unknown expectation for keeping the stupid thing. “You can continue to work as you have been, though. Mr. Wesley told me you’ve been quite diligent in keeping my name out of that ugly business. I have to say, I’m impressed.” Peter automatically preened at the comment before his head caught up to him. “Now, I want to go over the details of your next target. This one is very personal to me.”_

The first day of classes was uneventful. Peter was called Penis by Flash about ten times throughout the day, and the address was usually accompanied by some physical action, like knocking his books out of his hands or tripping him in the hallway. Cindy frowned at him when she found out they wouldn’t be in band this year, upset that he dropped, but found it understandable considering the workload he had with school and his internship. Liz sought him out that afternoon and for a brief and glorious moment, Peter thought she was going to ask him out. Instead, she gave him the new AcaDec schedule. The highlight of his day was when Ned invited him over to build his new Lego set.

“Join me and together, we’ll build my new Lego Death Star,” Peter straightened up and turned to his best friend who stood behind him with an impish smile, and a Lego Emperor Palpatine in his hand.

“What?” Peter exclaimed, a small grin forming on his face. “No way, that’s awesome. How many pieces?”

“3,803,” Ned replied.

“That’s insane,” Peter said excitedly, shutting his locker. He caught sight of a couple of boys who were obviously making fun of them and narrowed his eyes. The boy chuckling stared at him a for a moment, smile faltering. He scoffed a little and he and his friend wandered off. Ned and Peter started down the hallway towards the exit.

“I know! You wanna build it tonight?”

Peter _really_ wanted to build it tonight. He sighed, adjusting his bag. “Man, that’s cool. But I’ve got my internship today—”

“It’s the first day of school. How do you have an internship day on the first day of school?” Ned huffed. “You _always_ have that internship.”

_Easy,_ Peter thought. _O’Connor literally stole money and product from my boss, sold some information about some of his drug trafficking buddies to the cops then went off grid, and that pissed him off to no end._ “I don’t know. Aaron and I really need to finish up that project for the Brooklyn Water Treatment Facility.” Ned didn’t need to know that he and Aaron finished the pump last week. He was a little nervous about the nuclear power supply, but it was well contained, and the whole unit had a failsafe in the event of a potential melt down, so he tried to let go of his anxiety over it. Mr. Fisk may not be the most altruistic person, but he wouldn’t intentionally sign off on something that would put the city in danger. He and Aaron checked that device from every angle, and it was approved by three boards before it was approved by the city itself. The only way it would malfunction was if it was tampered with. Peter shrugged, helplessly. “I’m sorry, Ned,” he said. Then again, there was no way he’d find this guy tonight. “It’s probably going to be an early day though, so—"

“Yes! Okay, here’s the plan. You know how MJ’s been saying we haven’t been hanging out enough this summer?” Ned rambled something about meeting Peter later, but the boy was distracted when he caught sight of Liz at the end of the hall. God, she was gorgeous. Ned nudged him a little, “okay, Peter?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, shaking his head a little as the boys left the school and approached the parking lot. “That’d be great.” Freddy stood in front of the company car, smiling when he caught sight of Peter. Peter smiled back and started to head that direction, Ned in tow.

Ned bounced up and down a little, clearly excited. “Alright man!” Peter grinned and exchanged his handshake with Ned before saying goodbye. Freddy raised an eyebrow at him as he opened the door, allowing Peter to climb inside.

“That was some handshake,” he said after he started the car. Peter blushed and gave a rueful smile.

“Yeah, but you know, it’s _our_ handshake, so,” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

Freddy laughed. “Hey man, I had a shake with my best friend, too. You’re fine.” Peter gave a small smile and stared out the window as they headed towards Hell’s Kitchen, listening to Freddy go on about his course load for the new semester.

Things had changed over the summer for his internship. Aaron was a little more forthcoming on how several projects they had designed had dual purposes. The anti-gravity climbers were shot down by the city, considered to be too dangerous, but Mr. Fisk seemed to think they may be useful to outfit one of his people with—apparently the man did some delicate work which sounded similar to Peter’s, so the devices would come in useful. He still hadn’t heard anything about Dr. Ohnn, but Mr. Fisk had employed a new person with an aptitude for biophysics named Olivia Octavius. When Peter got the opportunity to meet the woman, he wasn’t sure what to think. She had long, frizzy dark hair with purple highlights that was half-dreadlocked, pale skin, and oddly shaped glasses in a thick wire frame. Dr. Octavius ate granola and rode her bike everywhere, citing how they were responsible for lowering the carbon footprint. Despite her altruistic attitude, Peter thought she was really creepy, and his spider-sense would not let up when she was around. He was glad he wouldn’t have to work with her. Between his workload with Aaron and Mr. Wesley, he just didn’t have the time.

The more time he spent with Mr. Wesley, the more involved he became in the seedier side of the business. Previously, he learned how to be discreet and how to lie. Now he was learning how to be intimidating. Mr. Wesley was not a very large or frightening man, but people listened to him, both out of respect and fear. Peter was observing him, learning how a shift of his body or slight change in tone of voice would knock people in line. For those that the tactic wouldn’t work on, Peter was there. He had begun new duties as muscle for Mr. Wesley when it was needed. He was easier to sneak into these confrontations as no one expected a scrawny fifteen-year-old to be able to pin them to a wall.

Once they arrived at Fisk Tower, Peter thanked Freddy for the ride and walked in, signing in with the receptionist up front before getting on the elevator. He went to the top floor and slipped into a room that was for his private use. Quickly he changed into his suit, and once he was dressed, he flung himself out the window, swinging towards the warehouse area his target was last known to be.

After he found Healy dead on the street, Peter became even more wary of the Devil. He knew the man didn’t watch his fists or his strength and that he had no qualms about killing people, but he didn’t know the man would stab someone through the eye to do it. It was gruesome and unnecessary and just plain scary. Over the summer he saw more and more signs of the man’s activity. The trails he followed were now mucked up, and there were indications of fighting that had never been present before. Not only that; he was starting to find injured men in the Devil’s wake. Between the trail of bodies left behind and the fall bringing night early, Peter was spooked at everything in Hell’s Kitchen. The sound of a dumpster shutting made him jump, and if a streetlamp flickered out, he found himself off the ground and up a wall in a heartbeat. It was starting to affect his work, and he finally reached a point where he had to rely heavily on his spider-sense. It was way more effective at detecting true threats near his person than the alert system in his suit.

Peter sighed and patrolled nervously, the sun setting in the distance. His earlier assessment was right, he wasn’t going to find O’Conner tonight. The man hid well, and his acquaintances were not forthcoming. The boy would have to take another approach. He thought about how he may need to find friends of the people the guy was responsible for jailing. They’d be more likely to sell out his location. Peter started climbing up a brick wall, ready to contact Mr. Wesley and call it a night (tomorrow was the second day of school, and he was certain they would be starting homework and projects, so he had to be at his best). A sharp gasp escaped him as he felt a zing up his neck and he stilled against the wall, halfway between the rooftop and the asphalt below. There was a quick movement in the shadows as the sky started turning and orangish-gold color.

Peter felt his heartbeat increasing, and he carefully dropped down to the ground to investigate, fully alert. He crept toward the darkened alleyway. As he toed down the empty road, he turned his head back and forth, trying to hear if there was someone, or something, down here with him. Then, he caught the quiet rustle of fabric and the whoosh of air being displaced by something fast and heavy, and he ducked down, seeing a foot fly over his head. Peter sprang up and spun around, then dropped his jaw at what he saw.

A muscular man stood before him. He was slightly taller than Peter, and was clad in black with a half-mask that covered his hair and eyes. His whole body was loose and ready to fight. This must be the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Peter swallowed and took a step back, putting his hands up. Apparently, this was the wrong move, because the man suddenly launched himself forward at the movement, throwing punches at Peter. Peter kept moving backwards, sidestepping all the hits until his back was pressed against the wall, not sure of what to do. He still hadn’t punched anyone, yet. He didn’t know how hard he should hit and was constantly afraid he would do some serious damage. The Devil was getting in too close for Peter to use his webs, though. Peter covered his body with his arms, trying to block the oncoming punches while he thought of a way out of this. Peter grunted when a punch hit his ribs and the Devil faltered, giving Peter a chance to shove him away so he could scuttle up the wall. Once he was well above the other vigilante, he let out a relieved breath. “Hey, man, what’s your problem?”

The other man cocked his head in a weirdly familiar way. He looked up at him, and Peter clearly see the heavy frown that marred the lower half of his face. 

“You’re a kid,” he said, gruffly, staring up at Peter. Peter gulped.

“I’m Spider-Man.”

“Okay, sure. Spider-Man,” the man responded. “You’re still a kid. What the hell is a kid doing running around after criminals in Hell’s Kitchen? Don’t you have homework to do, or something?”

“I’m not a kid,” Peter frowned, crawling down the wall and closer to the man, cautiously.

“Lie.”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat. “Yeah, ‘cause you’d know,” he responded, sullenly.

“I would, actually,” the man quipped back, taking another step towards Peter’s perch. Peter moved higher up on the wall again.

“Look man, I’m not causing any trouble. Way less trouble than you cause, anyway. I’ve been going by your messes, lately. Nice to know the new vigilante on the block is perfectly happy to kill people.”

The man scowled at him. “I haven’t killed anyone. Hurt them, yes, but they were all alive when I left.”

Peter scoffed. “If it weren’t for me getting ahold of the authorities, most of those people wouldn’t have survived.”

“You would have a child rapist running around the streets? You think that kind of monster deserves freedom?” the Devil scolded. Peter flushed angrily.

“You don’t get to decide who lives and dies, and you certainly don’t get to decide the method of execution!” Peter shot back. “I saw what you did the Healy. That was messed up, man.”

“How do you—oh,” the man nodded his head up and down as though he just solved a puzzle. “Healy did that to himself.”

“Yeah, right,” Peter responded, rolling his eyes.

“I barely touched him. I wanted information, and he had it, so I roughed him up a little. He told me I should have just killed him, with what the Kingpin would do to him if he said anything. But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

Peter blanched. “Wh-wh-what are you—”

“I know you work for him, kid. I know you catch his wayward delinquents for him, and I’m pretty sure you know a lot of important things about him. I still need information.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter said with a shake of his head, scuttling back further. “Look, man, I don’t have any information I can give you,” it was true. Peter would be six-feet-under if he ever came close to opening his mouth. The man crossed his arms across his chest.

“You’re lying.”

“You know what, I don’t know what kind of _fakakta_ enhancements you’re using to tell whether or not I’m lying, but I don’t think it works as well as you think it does,” Peter said, mindful of the possible recording device in his suit. “If I knew anything—which I don’t—I couldn’t say a word. You obviously know about the Kingpin. If I told you a single thing about him and he’s as messed up as you say he is, how do you think that would work out for me?” The man continued to stare up at him, unmoving. Peter sighed.

“You didn’t throw a punch,” he said, softly. Peter blinked and stared down at him again, confused. “When you and I were fighting. I landed quite a few hits on you and you didn’t fight back. Why not?”

Peter scratched the back of his head. “I—well I don’t know my own strength. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

The man dropped his arms and took a step back, then another. Finally he turned and started leaving the way he came. Peter’s heart was pounding. Was that it? “Kid,” the man called. Peter made a noise in acknowledgement. “You should get out while you can.”

Peter shook his head and climbed higher up the wall, figuring ending things in a stalemate was best. He pondered the man’s words and heaved a reluctant breath. “It’s already too late,” he whispered. It didn’t matter. No one would hear him, anyway. Peter sighed and called it a night, calling Mr. Wesley for a ride. Soon, Francis arrived at his location, and Peter climbed into the car. As they slowly moved through the traffic, he looked around the backseat of the car. “Hey, Francis?”

“Yes, Mr. Paker?” Francis replied. When it was just the two of them the partition remained open. Peter figured it was just so the chauffer could keep an eye on the vigilante, seeing as any attempts Peter made at conversation fell by the wayside.

“Where’s my bag? With my clothes?”

Peter saw Francis furrow his brow in the rearview mirror. “I’m afraid we may have left your things behind again. I don’t think Mr. Wesley was prepared for you to finish so early tonight.”

“Well, it’s the first day of school,” Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“We will be sure to get your bag back to you later tonight,” Francis said, eyes back on the road. Silence descended over the vehicle once more.

Peter wished he could have a day to do a normal patrol in Queens. He felt like he had been ignoring his neighborhood, lately. He missed being able to just operate without having to worry about a deadline. Peter longed for the days when he first started, when it was just him, his webshooters, and the open sky. Nothing could compare to the rush of catching a bike thief mid-heist. There was something inherently awesome about being asked to do tricks and flips by the locals. His heart swelled when he helped little old ladies find their way back home, or when he guided wayward children back to their parents. He wasn’t sure when he last got to go to Delmar’s and order his usual, practicing his Spanish with the shop owner and giving as good as he got after all his work with Miles.

Suddenly nostalgic, Peter asked Francis to drop him off near the sandwich shop. After he got out of the car, he climbed up the side of the building and swung across to another, taller one, settling down on a fire-escape. The teen stared at the horizon over the tops of buildings, watching pink tinge the sky as the sun completely disappeared from view.

Peter caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Across the street from Delmar’s, a group of men were creeping into a bank vestibule. Peter smirked, glad that he’d be able to balance the bad work he had done in Hell’s Kitchen with good work he could do for his neighborhood. “Finally, something good,” he mumbled as he swung his way to the ATM entrance. He snuck in and positioned himself by the door as the criminals started pulling money drawers out of the wall. Peter frowned as he leaned against the door frame, wondering how they managed to do that much damage in such a short period of time. “Hey guys, you forget your pin number?”

The men all looked up to reveal they were wearing plastic costume masks. “Whoa!” Peter said in mock amazement, pointing at them. “You guys are the Avengers! Wow, I’ve always wanted to meet you guys,” he said, jumping up to the ceiling as one of the men rushed him. He dropped one hand and shot a web at the nearest man, tethering him to the wall. He grabbed the next with his hand and launched him toward his buddy. The man in the Iron Man mask tried to scramble away, but Peter caught him by the back of his shirt. “Iron Man, what the heck are you doing robbing a bank? I thought you were a billionaire.” Suddenly, Peter felt himself being pulled from the ceiling and hovering over the floor. “This feels weird,” he shouted as the man in the Captain America mask stood in front of him, holding some freaky sci-fi gun and tossing Peter between the ground and the ceiling. “I’m starting to think you’re not the Avengers,” he grunted, sticking his fingers to the ground and holding on with all his might. “Okay guys, let’s wrap this up. I’ve got things to do, people to see,” he said, pulling a cash drawer out of the wall and swinging it toward Fake Captain America. The man dropped the gun and Peter launched himself to another wall, webbing Fake Hulk and Fake Thor up as he went. Fake Iron Man grabbed the gun and started charging it, but Peter webbed the gun to the glass wall behind him, shaking his head as he approached. “How did you get tech like this, anyway?” he asked, examining the gun.

Suddenly that zing went up his back and he turned just in time to hear a sharp whining from behind him. The man in Cap’s mask was holding a different weapon that was emitting a high pitch, and Peter had only a second to react before the thing went off, pulling Fake Iron Man free of his webbing and tossing them both across the lobby and away from the blast. A bright, purple light shot forth and Peter could smell ozone and smoke in the air as it discharged, cutting a hole through the glass and walls of the vestibule. Peter’s eyes widened when he saw that right across the street, Delmar’s was _on fire._ Peter knew Mr. Delmar was in there. He didn’t hesitate. He threw himself away from the bank and into the shop on the corner, diving around flaming pieces of merchandise to get to Mr. Delmar, who was huddled behind his register. Peter dove down to get him and saw Murphy growling on the counter as he pulled Mr. Delmar up. He tossed Mr. Delmar over his shoulder and tucked the giant, growling cat under his arm, then ran out the door, gasping as he went. He settled Mr. Delmar by a streetlamp and took several deep breaths. That was way too close. Peter turned back to the bank and frowned, seeing none of the criminals remained. “Aw, man—” he said, adjusting the cat in his arms. He sighed and turned back to Mr. Delmar, offering him the small beast before starting his trek back home, wondering what the hell he could do about this. Finally, after some consideration, he pulled out his phone.

“This is Wesley,” the man picked up after three rings. Peter let out a relieved breath, glad he could get through so quickly.

“Mr. Wesley! Oh man, something really crazy just happened,” Peter said, launching into the tale of the group of men with high-tech weapons. Mr. Wesley stayed quiet throughout, only offering encouragement for the rest of the story when Peter paused for breath. “So now there are guys running around in Queens with guns that shoot purple lasers. What am I supposed to do?”

“Calm down, Mr. Parker. I’ll give this information to our employer. It may prove useful to him. We have several informants in Hell’s Kitchen who have been telling us about these weapons as well. For now, try to relax. Go home and we’ll let you know the next step as soon as we have a plan,” Mr. Wesley said, gently. “Sure, sure Mr. Wesley, I can—oh wait.”

“Mr. Parker?”

“I didn’t get my bag or clothes,” Peter sighed, reluctantly.

“I know, Mr. Parker. I hadn’t gotten your bag to Francis before he took off to pick you up. Don’t worry, we have someone who is keeping in touch with our contacts in Queens, and your bag will be given to you by one of them.”

“What contacts in Queens?” Peter asked, voice cracking a little from nerves. He hadn’t heard about this before now. “Why don’t I know about the contacts in Queens?”

“Well, their primary purpose is to keep an eye on our _asset_ that resides there.”

Peter shuddered at the calm, collected voice on the other end. “So, what, you’re following me, now?” he asked harshly.

Mr. Wesley chuckled. “Remind me, who was it that went to Germany without clearing it with our employer?” Peter deflated. Of course he had a tail now. For all Mr. Fisk knew, Peter was working for Iron Man against him. The man was exceedingly paranoid. Peter was frustrated that he could barely twitch without someone ratting him out, but he wasn’t really surprised. It would take a while for Mr. Fisk to trust him again. “At any rate, someone will be by your apartment tonight to deliver your bag. I recommend you get there soon so you can receive it.”

Peter said his goodbyes to Mr. Wesley and swung his way home, staying out of sight as he crept up to his bedroom window. He carefully tugged the pane down and crawled inside, sliding the window shut with his foot. He slowly sneaked forward on the ceiling, eyes on May moving back and forth in their kitchen. He wasn’t sure if not having a long hallway between his room and their living area was beneficial or detrimental to his nightly activities, yet, but today it was pretty handy to be able to see May coming and still when necessary. No body looked up, after all. Once he got to the door, he pressed his fingers to it, then slowly pushed it shut. Once the door was closed, he carefully lowered his body until only his fingertips held onto the ceiling, dropping down as silently as his namesake. Peter let out a relieved breath as he pulled off his mask, turning around. He froze at what he saw.

Ned sat at the edge of his bed, a mostly constructed Lego Death Star in his hands. MJ sat in the corner of his bed near his pillow pressed up against the wall. Both stared at him in shock. Peter’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in surprise. MJ held her sketchbook loosely in her fingers. Her eyes were wide open, and her brows raised. Peter never thought he had seen that much expression on her face before. Ned gaped at him, mouth hanging open. His hands were visibly trembling. All three stared at each other for a moment in silence. The only thing that was remotely okay about this situation was that May was in the other room, distracted by cooking. If she found out about Spider-Man like this, Peter didn’t know what he’d do. He silently thanked whoever was watching out for him on that front. Peter saw how much Ned’s hands were shaking, barely hanging on to the Lego set.

Peter gulped. _I’ve got a bad feeling about this._

The Death Star started tumbling from Ned’s grip, almost in slow motion. The toy smashed to the floor, hitting the ground with a deafening crash.

_Shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Writing Notes:
> 
> 1\. Hey, in the DC universe, Marvel comics exist. Why not have it go the other way around? So far we’ve had Batman and the Flash… if I can find a way to work in Wonder Woman…. 
> 
> 2\. I don’t know why, but for some reason, in my head, Peter Parker just wants to be acknowledged for doing a good job. In canon he gets crap from the cops, the papers, villains, and even other heroes, so I kind of think whenever he hears a “well done!” he’s pleased by it. I’m sure everyone noticed this throughout the story, but his handlers are all aware of this aspect of his personality, and use it to manipulate him. The difference now is that he knows that’s what’s happening. 
> 
> 3\. Yeah. Ned got the Death Star Early. Everything is out of order. Think of it like the Butterfly Effect. You change one thing, and somehow that changed everything. ;-)  
> Actually, interestingly enough, when I originally wrote this chapter there were two Lego sets. Ned got Diagon Alley (slightly less complicated then the Death Star). I axed it for two reasons.  
> One, I don’t know how much of Harry Potter nerds Ned and Peter would be. How many Gen-Z kids are into it? Especially ones that are into sci-fi? I honestly don’t know. Someone tell me. Holler at me on tumblr. I mean, Harry Potter was the series of my childhood and my generation, and I really want Ned and Peter to at least be into the movies, you know? But I’m trying to decide the likelihood of it. Maybe Michelle will convince them to read it.  
> Reason two is that the original chapter was completely different from all the other chapters. The pacing was off. I had time jumps going all over the place. First day of school there was Lego Harry Potter and Daredevil. Suddenly it’s three weeks later and we’ve got the Death Star and the big reveal. No. I… if I were a reader of the story instead of the author, I would be upset with the rush job. Geez, as the _author_ I was upset at the rush job. So, we’re back to long and drawn out. There are going to be elements from Homecoming here, but at this point, we’ve basically got similar moments in time and totally different history/character development to guide us through it. Whee! 
> 
> 4\. I don’t think there would ever be a nuclear-powered generator for a city water pump. Like, ever. I shudder to think of the ramifications. I’m debating on someone else making an appearance later on though, or continuing this story beyond what is planned. If so, this will be foreshadowing. Let’s just call it comic-book magic and move on, hmm?
> 
> 5\. You know what I think is delightful about Fisk? I’m pretty sure he genuinely thinks that he’s operating in the best interests of the city, at least in Netflix Daredevil, possibly in other stories as well. Granted, he’s doing this selfishly. He does this so he can ultimately have control of the city, and so no one can reject him (like he was in his childhood). It’s like he wants to be seen as worthwhile. Where Tony's arc shows the benefits of the ends justifying the means, Fisk's arc shows how the ends and means have very negative effects.
> 
> 6\. Did you know Matt can recognize people by the sound of their heartbeat? What? Anyway, Spider-Man does not have super-duper crazy speed, but he’s faster than your average guy. I’m thinking his resting pulse is a smidge fast (like when you’re sick). Not something easily distinguishable, seeing as Matt met him _once._ So Daredevil knows who he is from the combination of his heartbeat and the sound of his voice. Also, Matt, why are you here? You weren’t supposed to be here. What? No, no that’s kind of cliché… oh? Hmm. Well… well okay. I’ll see if that’s gonna be a thing. @.@
> 
> 7\. Nope, my Peter still hasn’t hit anyone yet. Webbed, thrown, nudged out of the way with a foot, thrown things at, caught arms, etcetera, but he has not hit anybody. That has been intentional. He’s still figuring it out. Also ha. New vigilante. Because Spider-Man 100% came first. And not just in this story, but in the comics. 
> 
> 9\. Is the Yiddish too much? Again, comic influence. To be honest, I’m going back to earlier chapters and editing it, adding in some words and phrases. I want to be inclusive, but I don’t want to be a disrespectful f***head. Peter Parker being Jewish is an element of his character, so I want it to be present but not overpowering. Any insight would be helpful.
> 
> 10\. Yeah, I went there with the Star Wars thing. How could I not? That Han Solo line should be used at every opportunity by every Star Wars geek everywhere. Because it's a _classic._
> 
> Thanks for reading! Don't forget, I try to post teasers for upcoming chapters midweek on tumblr, and you can interact with me there about my stories (or just about anything. I'm pretty relaxed). Feel free to prompt, ask, or just say hi [@hanuko.](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They know.
> 
> Ned and MJ _know._
> 
> And can't Iron Man leave just leave Peter alone? What _else_ could the man want from him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a rough week, y'all. Kiddo brought home a cold from school, so here I am, with full and swollen sinuses. 
> 
> C'est la vie.
> 
> On a much more exciting note, I've been reading him Harry Potter (like a good millenial parent does), and HE WANTS TO BE HARRY POTTER FOR HALLOWEEN OMG!!!
> 
> I'm all verklempt. I need to figure out a good costume to pair. 
> 
> Calm down, Spidey lovers. He was Spider-Man last year, yours truly as Spider-Gwen. ;-)
> 
> Anyway, I don't have much to say about this chapter. I'm happy with it, but it's set up again. 
> 
> As always, I REALLY appreciate your comments. They are like warm rays of sunshine on chilly autumn days (it's VERY fall here, right now). Hope you enjoy!

“What was that?” May shouted from the next room. Peter swung around the face the closed door.

“Uh—nothing!” he shouted back, spinning around to face his friends again. MJ stared silently as Ned stood up.

“You’re the Spider-Man,” Ned breathed. Peter started shaking his head. “From YouTube.”

“No, no-no-no, I’m not,” Peter said, slapping the Spider emblem on the front of his suit. The suit sagged away from his skin and dropped to the floor as he reached into the hamper.

“You are! You were on the ceiling!” Ned responded excitedly.

“No, I wasn’t. Ned what are you guys even doing in my room?” he asked sharply, rummaging for his clothes. Peter froze suddenly when he saw MJ still staring at him, eyebrows even higher than before. Her jaw dropped at this point. Peter blushed furiously. “Do you mind?” he hissed, grabbing his jeans and a sweater off the top of the laundry basket. MJ blinked and turned her head, staring straight in front of her and away from Peter.

“You invited us,” Ned said. “May let us in. We were gonna finish the Death Star!” Peter hopped into his jeans and threw his sweater on just in time. He spun around as the door opened and stepped back, fake smile in place. May was fanning something out of her face.

“Alright, the honey-lemon chicken is toast. How about Thai? Thai sound good? Ned, MJ, do you want Thai?”

Ned started to nod while Peter shook his head. MJ was the one who came to the rescue. “Thanks, May, but I’ve gotta get home pretty soon, and I think Ned’s mom had some kind of dinner plan for the family tonight,” she said, sliding to the edge of the bed and swinging her legs down. “Adobo, right?”

“Oh, yum,” May grinned as she started to leave the room. “Hey, maybe keep your door open when you have a girl over, hmm?” she said, leaving the door open a crack. Peter blushed even more, suddenly realizing he would always have the memory of MJ staring at him in shock when he was only in his boxers. He was sure when she recovered from her own embarrassment that she would never let him live it down.

“She doesn’t know?” MJ asked from her seat on the bed. Peter pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.

“Nobody knows,” he hissed, pacing in front of them. “I mean, Mr. Fisk knows. It’s part of my internship, and why I operate in Manhattan so much. And Mr. Stark knows, since he made my suit, but that’s it.”

“Tony Stark made your suit?” Ned gasped, eyes shining brightly.

“Not the point.”

“Peter, are you an Avenger?” Peter rolled his eyes at the question.

“No, Ned. I’m not an Avenger! You guys can’t say anything,” he whispered harshly. Ned looked thoughtful for a second.

“You know, I’ll level with you,” he began, softly. “I can’t keep this a secret.” Peter facepalmed at this admission. “This is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Ned—”

“Don’t worry, Parker,” MJ said as she stood up. Peter swallowed. “I’ll keep him in line. Leeds, this is a secret. Let’s be good friends and keep Peter’s secret.”

Ned sighed and hung his head. “Okay, yeah, I know. Hey, did you just call us friends?”

“I don’t recall,” she replied, blankly, pulling Ned towards the door.

“I’m pretty sure you just admitted we were friends.”

“See you at school tomorrow, loser,” MJ said as she pulled the door all the way open.

“Dude, I have so many questions,” Ned said as MJ dragged him out of the room.

“Tomorrow, Ned,” Peter called. He stood by the edge of his bed, tense, until he heard the sound of his front door shutting. Peter sighed in relief and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” May said, poking her head around the doorframe. Peter jumped. “How’d you get in here, anyway? I didn’t see you come in.”

Peter shook his head. “You weren’t out in the living room or kitchen when I came in. Maybe you were in the bathroom or something?” May looked thoughtful for a moment before shrugging. A knock sounded on their front door.

“Who—” May started, but Peter pulled himself off the bed and moved past her toward the door.

“That’s probably for me. Someone has my bag. I accidentally left it behind, today,” he responded. May chuckled and followed him to the living room.

“Really, Peter,” she chided gently as he unlocked the door. “That’s the third time you’ve left your bag behind. It’s not very professional,” she said with a soft smile. Peter shrugged and scratched the back of his head as he pulled open the door. His eyes widened and he nearly slammed it shut at who he saw.

“Hey, kid.”

Tony Stark was at his apartment again. Peter swallowed and blinked. What could the man want now?

“Mr. Stark?” he asked, dumbly.

May came around the corner, eyes widening at his presence. “Mr. Stark, what are you doing here?”

“Well, May, you remember that application Peter submitted last spring? I’m here to talk about it a bit,” he said with a roguish smile. Peter gaped at him. “Can I come in?”

“Well, actually, we were just about to go out for dinner—”

“Sure!” Peter interrupted. Whoever was bringing his bag would be here any moment. The last thing Peter needed was to have Iron Man seen at his front door. May sighed as Mr. Stark stepped inside, shaking her head a little.

Mr. Stark moved into the small space, taking in his surroundings. He scrunched his nose at the smell of burnt meat in the air, but didn’t comment. “I like the new place, May. Delightful. Cozy. Very nice,” he said, nodding to himself as he looked around the room. Peter hovered near the door as May offered Tony a place to sit on a nearby couch. May sat next to him and gestured for Peter to join them. Peter reluctantly settled on the arm of the couch near May.

“Look, Mr. Stark—” May began, but Tony lifted a hand to quiet her.

“Please, call me Tony,” he said with a smooth smile.

May’s lips pressed into a little line, a sure sign she was irritated. “Tony,” she continued, “I didn’t realize Peter’s application was still being considered. I thought it was just for that spur of the moment trip you took him on,” she said, coolly. “He was lucky he was allowed to make up the couple of finals he missed, that day.”

Tony shrugged. “Those are few and far between, May, really,” he replied, tugging on the cuffs of his jacket. “I wanted to talk about some other elements though. I looked over the application with the other people heading the foundation, and Peter’s work really is quite exceptional.” A knock sounded at the door. Peter excused himself and went to the door, pulling it open halfway. Mr. Stark may have been in the living room and wasn’t visible behind the short wall (giving the illusion of a hallway from their door) separating the foyer from the sitting area, but Peter wasn’t taking any chances. His brow furrowed when he saw a familiar redhead before him.

“Derek?” he whispered, stepping out into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. The man grinned and held his Gucci bag out. “ _You’re_ the contact in Queens?”

“Yep,” the man chirped. “Lived here most of my adult life, Parker,” he said with a shrug. “I was born in Manhattan, but it’s too busy for me, you know?” Peter nodded. He did know. He much preferred Brooklyn or Queens to the hustle and bustle of the city. “Your clothes are folded up in your bag,” Derek said as Peter grabbed the it from him. He tilted his chin at the closed door. “Everything alright?”

Peter smiled, resisting the urge to swallow or flush. His practice with Mr. Wesley was paying off. “Yeah, man. May’s just dealing with a kitchen mishap,” he said with an eyeroll, thankful the acrid smell of burnt chicken was still hanging around in the air.

Derek chuckled. “Thai or Mexican?”

“Thai,” Peter said, solemnly. Derek shook his head.

“Man, your aunt is something else. I’ll be seeing you around, Parker,” he said before he turned and walked down the hallway, waving after Peter called out a farewell. Peter went back inside, letting out a sigh of relief. That was close. As he rounded the corner, he stopped dead in his tracks. May was standing with her hands on her hips, and Peter could tell from her body language that she was wearing her mad face. Mr. Stark still sat where he left him, staring at her in a polite, questioning way.

“Look, Tony, Peter has a lot on his plate. I know he applied for this internship-thing—”

“I didn’t think I was applying for an internship—” Peter interjected, not sure what was going on, but upset that Mr. Stark was still using the same lie to get him to do something else without May knowing. He went to Germany, hadn’t he? Wasn’t that enough?

“Hey, hey, everyone calm down!” Mr. Stark said, hands up in a soothing gesture. “I was just making an offer. I was looking at Peter’s transcripts and his work from the retreat, and I thought maybe this would be beneficial for him, especially if he plans on going into an engineering field, or maybe wants to go to MIT.”

Peter lowered his eyebrows. “You thought _what_ would be beneficial for me?”

Mr. Stark shook his head, then stroked his beard—either as a nervous tick or in thought, Peter wasn’t sure—before speaking again. “Lab time. With me at the Avengers Compound,” he said flippantly. Peter felt his mouth fall open. “You know, we’ll work on gear for the team and you can develop some of your own projects,” he winked.

Lab time?

Like, Peter would get to actually work with _the_ Tony Stark in his _personal lab_ at the _Avengers Compound_? Where most of the equipment for the Avengers was _made?_

Would it be possible for Peter to actually meet some of the Avengers (instead of fighting alongside them with no introduction) and see their training facility? Peter closed his mouth and swallowed.

“You—you want me to work with you at the Avengers Compound?” he asked, excitement creeping into his voice. He couldn’t help it. This was something he was dreaming about since he was ten, and it was something he didn’t think would be able to do before he graduated from college. Only in his wildest imaginings did he think this was possible. In all honesty, he felt like it would be more likely for him to team up with the X-Men than it would be for him to build things with Tony Freaking Stark.

Tony smiled and shrugged. “What can I say, kid? You impressed me at the retreat,” he said, smoothly. Peter felt the happy swell in his chest start to shrink. The retreat. This wasn’t an actual offer to tinker in his lab. This was a Spider-Man thing, or an Avenger thing. Tony needed his help again, and he was shoving Peter into a corner by making the offer in front of his aunt, where it would be weird for him to say no. May knew how much Peter wanted to work for Stark Industries. If she heard him say anything about being too busy, or not wanting to do it, she would know immediately that something was up.

Peter smiled hesitantly at May. Maybe she’d just put the kibosh on the whole plan. He was a sophomore now, so his workload at school was harder, and the internship was going to be eating away at a lot of his free time. May was a huge proponent of making sure Peter had time to relax and play and just be a kid. She was not shy when it came to voicing her worries about how much was on his plate. May looked at him with a thoughtful expression as she adjusted her glasses.

“What do you think?” he asked her, hesitantly. May sighed and looked back and forth between the two of them.

“Peter, you have a lot going on between your internship and school. I don’t want you to burn out.” Peter just managed to keep himself from letting out a relieved sound. May was going to tell him no, and he was going to act disappointed, but understanding because he had been showing “ _a surprising amount of maturity, lately,_ ” according to his aunt. Then Mr. Stark wouldn’t be able to say much about it, seeing as his guardian wasn’t inclined to let him add to his overall workload. Plus, the billionaire wouldn’t be able to blackmail him with the Spider-Man thing, because now Peter could say that the man forced him to come to Germany with him, and what else could he do when this crazy-wealthy superhero showed up and started making demands of him? He was an impressionable young man. It wasn’t _his_ fault Mr. Stark used that against him.

The thought of throwing Mr. Stark under the bus like that made his insides squirm guiltily, but he’d only go there if the man made it absolutely necessary. Peter had more important things to worry about, like extremely powerful weapons on the streets in Queens and prep for nationals. Peter winced, thinking of the sheets Liz handed him to review. Things would be busy during the next few weeks.

“What kind of commitment are you thinking?” May asked, wearing a contemplative look. Peter’s heart jumped into his throat. No way. No way was she actually considering—

“Probably once per month, on a weekend,” Mr. Stark replied, opening his arms in a welcoming, easygoing gesture.

May pursed her lips and glanced back at Peter, before nodding once. “Well, if it’s only once a month, and he’s staying close to home, I don’t see why not,” she offered him a slow smirk as his jaw fell open. “Come on, Pete, you didn’t really think I’d tell you no, did you? I know how much you admire Iron Man. Besides, you were on the honor roll all year last year _with_ your internship. I’m pretty sure you can handle it.” Peter looked back and forth between the two of them in shock. “What do you think?” she asked, moving close to him, cocking her head and raising a questioning brow.

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Say, ‘thank you, May,’” she quipped, ruffling his hair.

“T-thanks May.”

She grinned. “Alright, I have to run and change real quick. You go ahead and show Tony out, alright?” she turned and walked back towards her bedroom, leaving Peter and the billionaire alone. Peter stared at the man, opening and closing his mouth as Mr. Stark stood up and stretched.

“Well kid, I don’t know about you, but that went over way better than I thought.”

“Mr. Stark—”

“I’m thinking the week after next. Probably a Friday through Saturday deal,” Mr. Stark steamrolled over him, starting to walk toward the front door. He glanced at Peter’s bag. “That’s a pretty sweet bag. Not something I’d expect you to have.”

Peter flushed. “It’s from my boss,” he said, lamely, following Mr. Stark to the door. “Mr. Stark—”

“Tony.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter repeated, firmly, “what are you doing?”

“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific,” Mr. Stark replied, pausing just in front of the doorway.

“Why do you want me to work with you? At your lab?”

Mr. Stark sighed and glanced back over Peter’s shoulder, checking for the other occupant of the apartment. “Look Parker,” he said, shrugging his shoulders a little restlessly. “There’s more to this superhero gig then catching bad guys and fighting rogue Avengers.” Tony paused and looked Peter straight in the eye, a small smile playing along his lips. “The truth is, you’re brilliant, and I think you could use a safe place to actually work on your Spider-Man stuff, and believe it or not, I’m more than just my good looks. I’ve been told I’m pretty sharp.”

“Mr. Stark, I know that. You’re like, the most brilliant person I’ve ever heard of,” Peter’s eyes widened and a blush covered his face as he realized what just slipped out of his mouth. “I mean, you’re very accomplished,” he corrected, wondering if that sounded any better. Mr. Stark shrugged in response as Peter regained his bearings. “I just meant I don’t know what you want from me.”

Mr. Stark stared at him with a penetrating gaze. Peter flushed more and stared at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I don’t want anything from you, kid.”

Peter couldn’t contain his snort of derision. He glanced up and took in Mr. Stark’s furrowed brow. He looked like he was trying to solve a difficult math problem. “Everyone wants something, sir,” he said, quietly.

Mr. Stark sighed and put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. Peter glanced at it before looking back at the other man’s face. “What I want is the chance to teach you a few things, and to help you be better.”

“Better at what?”

“Just… better,” Mr. Stark said, dropping his hand. “The thing is, I pulled you into a crazy mess, and that’s on me. I want to prepare you for what’s ahead.” He turned and opened the door.

“What about the Accords?” Peter blurted, giving the man pause. Mr. Stark let out another sigh.

“I’m working on it, kid. We’ve been going over amendments, especially since those protests last spring went off the rails. I thought I realized what they were about, but after talking with some pretty influential, pretty intelligent people, I realized that maybe they need some work before anybody signs anything.”

“You think Captain America was right?”

“I didn’t say that. What goes on between me and Cap stays between me and Cap.” Mr. Stark said with finality. “But this has nothing to do with that. I’m not asking you over to sign, and I’m not trying to blackmail you or paint you into a corner. I know you’ve got stuff on me now, and turnabout is fair play,” Mr. Stark grinned. “I just want to help you out. Maybe you can learn a thing or two from me.” Peter was stunned. This was not what he was expecting. “Happy will send you the details so we can finalize a plan. I’ll see you soon, kid,” and with that, Mr. Stark left the apartment. Peter leaned around the doorway and watched the man disappear down the hall, wondering what the hell just happened.

“Ready for dinner?” Peter jumped again as he heard May’s voice before he turned back around. _Oy,_ she was like a _cat,_ she was so quiet. His expression must have been telling, because she gave him a gentle smile. “He’s something, huh? You know, that man gets on my last nerve, but at least he knows talent when he sees it!” she grinned, grabbing her purse. “Now, I know it’s late, but I’m thinking we can go to Chao Thai? We can get Larb. You want Larb?”

Peter smiled, glancing at the darkened sky and grabbing his coat. He’d been getting chilled pretty easily, lately. “I’m actually feeling more like Red Curry,” he responded, following his aunt out of the apartment.

* * *

“Can you spit venom?”

“No, Ned.”

“Do you think you could grow a bunch of extra arms?”

“What—no.”

“Can you summon an army of spiders?”

“That would be cool, but no.”

“Do you lay eggs?”

“What?”

“Cool it, nerds, or your secret will be out before we get to lunch,” MJ interrupted, poking Ned in the side with her pencil. Peter was thankful for the reprieve. He loved his friend, but seriously, this was getting ridiculous.

“I can’t help it,” Ned gushed. “It’s just so cool! The things you can do are so impressive.”

It had only been a few days since Ned and MJ found out his secret, and Ned had been asking questions nonstop. Some of them were cool. Peter found he liked being able to talk about his abilities and getting his powers. He also enjoyed impressing the crap out of his friend with his “I stole Captain America’s shield,” story. This was something he didn’t even realize he was missing. Keeping it a secret from everyone was incredibly hard, and the people who did know didn’t care one way or another about what he did (unless it helped them in some way) or how he did it. Ned’s excitement was refreshing, and reminded him about all the things he loved the most about being Spider-Man.

MJ, on the other hand, seemed far less interested.

“The most impressive thing about this is how ripped you got, loser.”

It took her much less time to recover from the near-naked incident than he thought it would.

“Because damn, boy. You got ripped.”

It seemed like her goal in life right now was to see how red he would get when she reminded him how he stripped with her in the room.

“I know this because you took your clothes off in front of me,” she said, particularly loudly.

Cindy Moon spun around, eyes wide and mouth open in surprise. “What?” she asked, brows nearly disappearing into her hair. MJ gave a slow smile, winked at Peter, and went back to her notes for class. Peter buried his head in his arms, hoping the ground would swallow him up.

It was possible his only saving grace was that Miles still had no idea about his alter ego. This was one of the few times Peter was glad Miles had decided to stay in public school and not apply for Midtown. The boy was such a huge Spider-Man fan. If he found out Peter was the guy in the spandex, he would lose his mind over it way worse than Ned. His friends were inclined to disagree.

“Look, Parker,” MJ said as they left class and headed toward the cafeteria. “I get you keeping this a secret from the rest of the school, although now that I think about it, you are _not_ subtle, but Miles is our friend. A good friend, and a smart friend. He’d be great at the Guy-in-the-chair stuff.”

“Hey!” Ned said with an affronted tone.

“You can share duties,” she added with an eyeroll. Ned did not look very pacified by the comment.

“I am the only Guy-in-the-chair,” Ned said indignantly. “I already downloaded a police scanner app. Miles can do something else. What about PR?”

“I don’t need PR,” Peter said as they entered the lunchroom, finding an empty table. They all sat down and pulled their lunches out of their bags.

“Miles can’t be PR. I’m PR,” MJ said, opening a Tupperware with cold spaghetti. Peter stared at her, the peanut butter sandwich he pulled from his lunch sack momentarily forgotten.

“What?”

“I’ve already got a Twitter and Instagram up.”

“I have a Twitter?”

“And an Instagram,” MJ said, poking at the noodles with her fork before twirling some on the utensil and taking a bite.

“When did you—”

“The first night of school. It’s TheRealSpidey for both.”

Peter blinked and turned back to his sandwich. “I still don’t think I need PR.”

“You’ve got 300 followers already,” she added, nonchalantly.

“What? But it’s been a week!”

“What can I say. The people love Spider-Man,” she shrugged. Ned grinned at her.

“This is so awesome. Okay, so I’m your Guy-in-the-chair, MJ is PR… oh I know. Miles will run write stuff about you and help you with your tech!” Peter sighed, taking a bite of his sandwich.

“And I suppose I should web my camera up in random spots throughout Queens and take photos of myself for the upcoming blog you guys are all going to run?” he asked, sarcastically. He looked up when he didn’t get a response, and nearly smacked his forehead when he saw Ned grinning excitedly and MJ smirking deviously. “No. No, guys, that was a joke, come on.”

“You can do it in Hell’s Kitchen, too,” Ned said. He waved his hand in the air, as if he was reading some kind of sign or headliner. “Spider-Man takes on drug culture in Manhattan. It’s got a nice ring to it.”

“Ned—”

“Hey guys,” Peter spun around eyes wide, barely keeping hold of his sandwich. Liz stood behind them, twisting a lock of dark hair around her finger, glancing between Peter and MJ with a shy smile on her face. When Peter glanced back to MJ, he saw she was still smirking, this time in an oddly triumphant kind of way.

“How can we help you, oh captain my captain?” MJ asked, taking a sip from her water bottle.

Liz shuffled a bit before looking at Peter, letting go of her hair. “I just wanted to remind you we have extra Decathlon practice after school today,” she said. She was giving Peter a weird look that for some reason gave him butterflies.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he said, offering a tentative smile. _Stay cool, Parker._ “We’ll be there.”

“Great,” she responded. “See you later,” she giggled, turning around and going back to her table.

“Dude,” Ned said after she was out of earshot.

“What just happened?” Peter asked, brows raised.

“You’re welcome,” MJ said, shaking her head and going back to her food.

Peter stared at her, bewildered. “For what?”

“For saying that I saw you naked loud enough for Cindy to hear me.” Peter shushed her, looking around.

“Would you stop that!”

MJ rolled her eyes. “You like Liz, don’t you?” she asked, stabbing at her noodles, seeming to lose interest in them. Peter pinched his eyebrows together, trying to solve whatever word problem she was giving him and coming up empty.

“Yes?”

“Well, now she thinks you’re interested in me, so she’s checking you out because you’re unavailable. I hate to break it to you, Parker, but Liz Allen is the kind of girl who isn’t all that interested unless you play hard to get.”

Peter scoffed. “What? She is not.”

“Alright, we’ll see,” MJ said. “You know, this morning I heard her telling Betty Brant that she wasn’t sure if she should go with Harry or Kong, since they both asked her. Now, I bet she’ll be ‘too busy planning the dance,’ to find a date. Or to accept one. I know Flash is raring to ask her, too, but, she’ll only have eyes for you. She’ll drop hints and flirt and play with her hair until you ask her to the dance.” Peter frowned, thinking about this. She never really swayed around and played with her hair like that. Plus, she _giggled._ Was that flirting?

“How are they already planning Homecoming?” Ned asked, eating some stir-fry he brought from home. “I mean, it’s in like, a month.”

“A month isn’t that long, Ned,” Peter said with a smile. “I’m surprised there aren’t any decorations or posters about it yet.”

“That’s because her committee is a joke,” MJ said. “Anyway, you should really tell Miles. Spider-Man could use all the friends in his corner he can get.

Peter sighed and offered her a small smile. “I’ll think about it, alright?”

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful. Peter nearly blew up his webfluid in chemistry (he needed to keep a better eye on the stuff. His new formula was not working out the way he wanted it to _at all_ ), and PE was boring (it was hard to pretend the class was difficult for him). At AcaDec practice, Peter noticed that Liz stood close by him—closer than normal, and often complimented him when he gave the correct answer. He racked his brain, trying to think if this was unusual behavior for her, or if MJ was just getting in his head. At one point, MJ sat down next to him and showed him a drawing of Mr. Harrington looking at a stack of paperwork in despair, making Peter chuckle and grin. He glanced up and saw a small frown on Liz’s face just before she turned away from him to talk to Abe about the Super Quiz. Peter stared at her for a moment before looking back at MJ. The girl smirked and shook her head.

“Do you trust me, Peter?” she asked as they packed up to leave for the day. Peter threw his bag over his shoulder.

“Of course I do,” he said, not missing a beat. MJ and Ned were probably the _only_ people he trusted, except May. They never set off his spider-sense, they only ever supported him, and they kept him grounded in a way that no one else could. Between his workload at school, his projects at his internship, his vigilante side gig for Mr. Fisk, and his duties as Spider-Man, Peter was pretty sure he would have lost his mind ten times over if not for them. There was no question in his mind that Michelle Jones was someone he would always be able to rely on.

“Then trust me on this. Just you wait. I bet you’ll be taking her to Homecoming,” she said, nudging him as they left together, Ned catching up to them. “Just don’t invite me to the wedding. Tulle makes me gag,” she said with a shudder. Peter and Ned laughed as they exited the building, and they parted at the front of the school, Michelle getting into her mom’s car, and Ned and Peter heading towards the train. Ned went back to asking more questions, and Peter said he’d probably patrol around Queens tonight, seeing as he didn’t have any serious homework he had to worry about. Ned told him he would listen to the scanner and send him texts about what was going on when they parted ways.

As Peter approached his building, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out and frowned, seeing Mr. Wesley was trying to get a hold of him. It was odd for him to be calling on a free day. Peter let out a sigh and reluctantly answered.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Parker,” Peter typed in the code to open the main door to his building and stepped inside, heading toward the elevator.

“What’s up, Mr. Wesley?” he asked, adjusting his backpack as he stepped onto the elevator. The small box moved upward, and Peter pulled his phone away from his ear, wondering at the silence at the other end. “Mr. Wesley?” he asked once the elevator doors opened. “Sorry I was in the elevator; did you say something?”

He heard a small sigh on the other end. “Yes, Mr. Parker. I said we’ve been looking into the information you gave me. About those very powerful weapons in your neighborhood?”

Peter nodded when he reached his door and pulled his keys out of his pocket. “Oh, yeah, I remember,” he said, shaking them so his housekey was ready to push into the lock.

“Well it turns out that these weapons are also turning up in Brooklyn, the Bronx, and now Hell’s Kitchen.”

Peter let out a low whistle. “That’s crazy, Mr. Wesley.”

“Yes, well, you have a new assignment because of this.” Peter frowned, standing still in front of his locked door. “Our employer as decided that in addition to your duties locating the betrayers of his trust, he wants you to look into the weapons.”

Peter dropped his keys. “What?” he asked, bending down to retrieve them.

“He wants you to find whoever is responsible and personally hand them over.”

“Why?” Peter hissed, shocked by the request.

“Because this person is acting very disrespectfully to our employer by flaunting his or her tech and selling it in our employer’s territory. You know how he feels about being disrespected,” Mr. Wesley finished. Peter gulped. “You’re one of the best trackers we have, and he wants all available hands looking for this foolish person so that he can have a—" Mr. Wesley paused, as if searching for the right word, “—talk with them.”

Peter sighed, finally getting his door open and dropping his bag inside. He turned up the heater, shivering with the fall chill in the air. So much for patrolling Queens today.

“Alright, Mr. Wesley. When do I start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Writing Notes:
> 
> 1\. ***Far From Home Spoiler*** That scene? When Peter takes off his shirt in front of MJ, not even thinking about it, and he’s standing there and she’s standing there and he’s just so shy and embarrassed, and her expression was like “whoa…” OMG I DIED!!!!!
> 
> 2\. As a mother in today's world...  
> WHAT THE HECK MAY YOU SAW YOUR SON (fight me, he’s her son) NEARLY NAKED WITH A FULLY DRESSED PERSON IN THE ROOM WITH HIM!!!! NEARLY NAKED!!! THAT DOOR SHOULD HAVE STAYED OPEN! THERE SHOULD BE A LENGTHY DISCUSSION ABOUT SEXUALITY AND BOUNDARIES AND ALL THE THINGS BECAUSE HE IS 15 OMG!!! Sorry… sorry I just… I was astounded. And yeah, I REALLY hope some things happened off camera because… well. Yeah. 15. Maybe I’m just old and paranoid, idk.  
> And this *may* be the reason why I wrote her as not being concerned about Ned as a possible partner but concerned about MJ being in his room with him. I get the feeling that Peter possibly liking boys is off the radar for her (I’m speaking in generalities. I don’t know if Peter is straight or bi or pan… I know in most medias he’s portrayed as straight, but there are hints of bisexuality in there. That’s a discussion for another day).
> 
> 3\. Okay, all things considered, it would be like... 8 right now. 7 at best. Because it's September, not October, and I made it dark. So that's probably really late for kiddos to have dinner on a school night. This has bothered me since I wrote the last chapter. I've been telling myself they both have hectic schedules, and haven't gotten into school routine yet, and it has placated me somewhat. For others who are bothered, I am aware. I'm looking for a more practical solution in my brain then what I just noted. I'm working on it. ;-)
> 
> 4\. I’m doing something here with Tony. It’s subtle (in my opinion). Brownie points to the peops who figure it out. Come holler at me at tumblr. ;-)
> 
> 5\. 300 followers in a week seems amazing to me. I’ve had my tumblr for a few months, and I have 15 followers. When my Instagram was not on private settings, I had maybe 30 followers after four months. I think I have 0 followers on twitter. We’re not gonna mention how long I’ve had that. Now, obviously Spidey is a lot cooler than me, but it seems really surprising that he’d have 1000 followers or more in a week. Right? Maybe not. Let’s just go with it. ;-)
> 
> 6\. MJ, you are a very good bro. Helping Peter out so he can get the other girl so he can be happy, instead of, you know, sabotaging everything and being all catty and crap is a good friend move. Why does it matter if you’re dying a little inside? I’m kidding, I’m honestly not sure at this point if Michelle knows how she feels about Pete or not (in this story). As for Liz, well, the [evidence](https://terrigen-cdn-dev.marvel.com/content/prod/1x/1_d260.jpg) [speaks](https://www.spidermancrawlspace.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/08/amazing-spider-man-13-4-660x366.jpg) for [itself.](https://66.media.tumblr.com/ae0fd7ae7cd790ee3d9474e121b0e949/tumblr_inline_pl0y7oVjIs1rquizl_1280.png) Granted, Liz Allan is wonderful, and I don’t think her feelings aren’t real, but she is one of those that maybe needs help pointing her in the right direction, you know?
> 
> Thanks for reading, and feel free to come see me at tumblr! I'm always happy to answer questions, look at prompts, or just say hi. So you know, look for [@hanuko](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/) if you want. :-)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Tony get to know each other a little. 
> 
> Peter is pleasantly surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my beautiful, lovely readers. 
> 
> It's officially fall! Pumpkin Spice, here I come!
> 
> Okay, who are we kidding. I already made gluten free pumpkin-chocolate chip muffins. In August. Because they're delicious. 
> 
> But still, the season has changed! The leaves are turning. The weather is brisk. Huzzah, autumn is here! 
> 
> Can you tell that's my favorite season?
> 
> Anyway, thank you always for the comments and kudos. I love them. I live for them. Please ask me questions, tell me what you thought, what you're predictions are, anything. I love the interaction, and I'm always appreciative!

The room was a strange combination of pristine and chaotic. The tables that lined the walls were stainless steel and well kept, but strewn across them were pieces of armor of all different types in a disorganized jumble. Some pieces were welded together and set aside, as though they may have belonged to the same project, but the only tools the teen could see were scattered about on a completely different workbench. The room was well lit, and at one worktable a holographic image glowed brightly, showing the schematics of a small suit with eight, long, skinny rod-like appendages coming out the back.

“Well? What do you think? Nice digs, right?”

Peter was in awe. Mr. Stark stood somewhere behind him near the doorway, trying to act nonchalant and failing, his pride over his workspace clearly shining through. They had decided because of Peter’s school schedule that Saturday to Sunday would be best for his labtime.

“Happy said you have a new formula for your webfluid you want to try out? I figured you could do that here. I’d be happy to see how you put it together, and maybe offer some advice. Although, I have to warn you, chemistry is not my forte.” If Peter didn’t know any better, he would say that Mr. Stark was nervous. He blinked and stepped forward, smiling at the various gadgets on the table. As he came closer to one of the tables, he heard a hopeful, little mechanical whine. Peter looked over his shoulder and saw a clunky, metal bot with a three-pronged claw wheeling toward him, raising the claw up and down while it chirped.

“Oh, no, come on—” Mr. Stark started towards the bot.

“H-hello?” Peter asked, turning to fully face it. It looked familiar. He was almost certain he’d seen a picture of this thing before, but he couldn’t remember where or what it was. The bot took no heed of Tony, moving close enough to Peter for him to touch. Peter hesitantly held out his hand and traced a finger along the arm and was rewarded with a delighted chirp. Peter grinned outright, pleased with the reaction. “And—uh—who might you be?” he asked.

“That’s Dum-E,” Tony said, moving into the lab and closer to the pair, watching them with a curious expression. Dum-E swung towards Tony and raised his mechanical arm—possibly in acknowledgement—then turned back to Peter to examine him. Peter’s jaw dropped.

“Oh my god. Oh my God, this is Dum-E?” he asked breathlessly. Dum-E whirred again. “Oh my God! I can’t believe I just touched Dum-E! This is the first AI you ever built!” he exclaimed, barely containing his excitement.

“That’s a misconception,” Tony said. “I built U and Dum-E at the same time, but U was finished first. I think people just like Dum-E better.”

“What does Dum-E stand for?” Peter asked, still in awe at the presence of the robot. “Or U, for that matter?”

“Eh,” Tony said, non-committedly, clapping his hands together. “Over here is a schematic for another suit I’m working on for you—this one would offer better protection,” Tony said, coming up to Peter and slinging an arm around his shoulders, pulling him to the holograph. “I wanted to get your opinion on it. You know more about what you need than I do, after all.” Peter turned his head back as he was being led away, smiling at the tenacious robot rolling along behind them. “I’m working on some nanotech for my own suit, and there are some applications that I think that would be really useful to you if we applied the technology to yours. For example, you won’t have to change into it. It could be housed in something like a wristband or belt,” Mr. Stark went on, but Peter was barely listening. He didn’t even notice when they stopped in front of the holograph. Peter hadn’t taken his eyes off Dum-E. The little robot was still following them, gesturing its arm at Peter curiously.

“Wow,” he whispered. The chirping robot seemed to preen at his attention, coming close enough that Peter could touch it again.

“Well, thank you, it is pretty impressive,” the billionaire said, “but I really do want your opinion for some of the additions. Also, I need to know your new webfluid formula, because we need to be careful that it won’t gum up in the spinneret or the nozzle—oh.” His arm dropped from Peter’s shoulders, and Dum-E gently nudged Peter’s side, causing the boy to laugh. “Alright, fine. I guess you should meet the others,” he grumbled. He let out a sharp whistle. Peter looked over in alarm, not expecting the sound. “U!” he shouted. “Butterfingers! Come out, meet the Spiderling!” Peter heard more whirring, mechanical noises at the opposite end of the lab and turned in the direction of the sound. two robots identical to Dum-E rolled towards them from opposite corner of the lab, one moving its arm curiously, the other chirping a greeting.

“This is so cool,” Peter whispered, walking around the approaching bots. He noticed little lenses underneath the claws. “Hello,” he said to the one marked Butterfingers. It chirped happily and followed Peter with the arm. The other nudged his shoulder and he turned with a laugh. “Sorry! Hi there.”

Mr. Stark let out a sigh. Peter looked up to see him rolling his eyes, but there was a reluctant smile on his face. “Okay. Peter, this is U and Butterfingers. You already met Dum-E. Kids, this is Peter Parker. He’s going to be spending some time with us. Try not to embarrass me,” Tony said. “Okay, everyone has met. Will you look at this schematic now? I figure we’ll look at some of the kinks and things I need to rework with your new webfluid, then we’ll get lunch. I can get delivery from this great place in Kingston that has amazing bacon cheeseburgers—wait, I should ask, are you _kosher_?”

Peter chuckled. “Not really. You realize I’m here on _Shabbat_ , right? Not exactly the poster child for following Jewish Law,” he said with a smirk, shrugging when Mr. Stark didn’t do more than blink in response. “At home we try to be. _Kosher_ , I mean. But, uh, bacon cheeseburgers might be pushing it though,” he said, shyly. Mr. Stark nodded. “What about Chinese?”

“Great!” Mr. Stark said. “I’ll have my people get on that when lunch comes around. Now come over here and take a look.”

Working with Mr. Stark (“ _Come on, kid, call me Tony. Mr. Stark makes me feel way older than I want to,”_ ) was a lot different than Peter expected. After he got acquainted with the bots, he set to work on his new webfluid, glad he was able to do everything out in the open instead of beneath his desk at school. As he observed the reactions of the chemicals he combined, he made notes to his formula, tweaking it in various ways until he was ready to do a new trial. Mr. Stark let him work on his own for the most part, but occasionally he would come by and ask a question about the formula. Peter remembered Dr. Ohnn doing something like this occasionally, but it was to test whether or not Peter was paying attention and to correct him if he wasn’t on the right path, so at first, it frustrated him, and he barely managed to keep his snarky responses to himself. After the first couple of questions, though, he realized Mr. Stark was genuinely curious. Mr. Stark wasn’t lying before when he said he wasn’t a chemist, and he looked impressed at Peter’s knowledge and the product he was putting together.

For the most part, Mr. Stark stayed with his own project, talking to himself about the various problems he was working on. The first time he did this, mentioning that the joints in Colonel Rhodes’ prosthetic weren’t operating at capacity, Peter responded by asking if Mr. Stark had tried with a different material like carbon fiber. Mr. Stark was so startled that he accidentally dropped the thing he was fiddling with on his table. Then he looked at Peter with narrowed brows and Peter swallowed. Once the silence got uncomfortable, Peter shrugged and mumbled something about how he had done some research for prosthetic limbs in the past. Mr. Stark immediately followed up though, explaining he was redesigning a metal frame that would go on Colonel Rhodes’ legs to help him walk because the current one was too clunky, and that he appreciated the input. He just wasn’t used to having another human in his lab.

Peter kept waiting for something. Heavy praise, subtle jabs—that was how Mr. Wesley operated, after all. He built Peter up for the most part, then would slip in some kind of remark about how he could do better—but the only thing he got from Mr. Stark was an authentic interest in Peter’s work, and honest answers about the projects he was working on for the remaining Avengers. It reminded Peter of doing projects with Aaron at Fisk Tower. As the day went on, Peter felt himself start to relax, and he hummed tunelessly as he worked.

“Oh, do you want me to throw on some music?” Tony asked. “I usually do when it’s just me in here, but I know it’s not for everyone. When Bruce would work with me, he hated it if I played music. Then again, it’s not like the music I chose was relaxing at all.”

“Bruce?” Peter asked.

“Yeah. Bruce Banner.” Tony said it so matter-of-factly. Peter stared at him with wide eyes. “What?”

“Dr. Banner?”

“Yep, that’s him.”

“ _The_ Dr. Banner? Who wrote all those papers on the effects of gamma radiation?”

Tony smiled and shook his head. “Who else?” he chuckled.

“Oh my God.”

“Kid—”

“You worked with Dr. Banner outside of Hulk stuff? Like, you two did _sciencey_ things together?”

“Okay, _sciencey_ is not a word. But yes, we’ve worked together. You could even say we’re science bros.”

“That is the coolest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Come on, stop—”

“What’s he like? I can’t even imagine,” Peter gushed, turning fully to face Mr. Stark. Mr. Stark tried to keep a straight face, but Peter could make out a smile emerging in the corners of his mouth.

“You’re gonna give me a complex, and trust me, I don’t need another,” the man said, glancing at his watch. “Whoa! Is that the time? We’re way past lunch.” Peter’s stomach chose that moment to growl. Loudly. Mr. Stark laughed at his blush. “Alright, let’s get some lunch. Dinner? Linner?”

Peter smiled as he stood from his chair and stretched. He wasn’t used to sitting still for so long. “Linner sounds good, Mr. Stark,” he joked.

“Ugh, please stop with Mr. Stark. Or are you trying to tell me something? Do you prefer Mr. Parker?” Mr. Stark teased back.

Peter felt his heart drop into his stomach at the same speed that the smile fell off his face. This was Tony Stark. Iron Man. Peter didn’t know if he’d ever be able to call him by his first name. There was no way he could possibly be that casual with the man, but if he didn’t and the billionaire chose to start calling him Mr. Parker; That was exactly what Mr. Wesley and Mr. Fisk did. They only ever used his first name to manipulate him and to get him to do something terrible that he didn’t want to do. He found he liked Mr. Stark calling him kid, and Pete, and even Parker. He liked every variation of his alter-ego’s name the man came up with. He liked the teasing nature that came so easily between them. If he switched to Mr. Parker, that would go away in a heartbeat, Peter was certain. Peter gripped the table behind him.

“Or not,” Mr. Stark said, raising an eyebrow. Peter chuckled nervously and tried to release the table, then turned his head quickly once he realized he was stuck. _Crap. Okay, keep calm,_ he thought to himself, trying to pry his hands off the metal surface. Mr. Stark came forward, stopping when he was just in front of Peter and craning his head around to see what was happening with Peter’s hands. When he straightened up, both eyebrows were raised high. “Want to share what’s going on with the class, kiddo?”

“I—um…”

Mr. Stark examined Peter’s hands again, his fingers hovering over them but not touching. “What’s wrong?” he asked, calmly.

Peter sighed, feeling his pulse pick up. “I—I get stuck sometimes. To things. When I’m nervous?”

Mr. Stark made a questioning hum.

“When I get stressed.”

“Uh-huh. What just happened that made you stressed?” Mr. Stark asked, his tone a mixture of curiosity and another emotion Peter couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“I-I don’t—” Peter tugged frantically, jerking the table away from the wall. Mr. Stark flinched at the sudden sound of metal grating against concrete, but otherwise continued examining Peter, waiting patiently for a response. “I really don’t like being called Mr. Parker,” he said, quietly. A pitiful, worried-sounding whine caught his attention, and Peter turned to see Dum-E hovering close by, moving its arm in distress. Peter winced. “Sorry, buddy,” he said to the robot hovering nearby.

“Okay. Okay, sorry, I was teasing. I won’t joke about that anymore,” Mr. Stark said. Peter rolled his eyes. He appreciated the sentiment, but it wouldn’t unstick him. Dum-E rolled away. “What do you do to relax?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“You know, music? Puzzles? What kind of things help you to relax?”

“I, uh—I’m not sure.”

“Kid.”

“I’ve never had a reason to think of a specific thing that relaxes me!” Peter defended, scuffing his toe against the floor. He heard Dum-E wheeling back toward them.

“Then how do you normally resolve this issue?” Mr. Stark said, exasperated.

“I usually pull really hard until I get unstuck. I mean, a piece of whatever I’m sticking to usually comes with me—”

“Okay, let’s try not to damage my table of your hands—no! No, put that down!” Mr. Stark suddenly exclaimed. Peter looked up to see Dum-E holding a fire extinguisher. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “No one is on fire! Don’t make me get the hat!” Dum-E hummed and whirred, lifting the fire extinguisher up and down, pointing it at Peter. It looked like it was arguing with Mr. Stark. “I don’t care if I rebuilt you. I’ll donate you. Don’t test me!” Peter was so distracted by the display that his hands popped off the table.

“Um—”

“Just stay back, kid, you don’t know what this bot can do. Dum-E. Put. That. Down.”

Dum-E whirred sadly and lowered the fire extinguisher to the ground.

“What just happened?” Peter asked, looking between the billionaire and the robot.

Mr. Stark sighed. “Well, when I was making Mark II, Dum-E was on safety, and he was supposed to—” Mr. Stark cut himself off, looking at Peter’s hands that were now hanging by his sides. “—huh.” Peter looked down and smiled suddenly.

“Oh, hey, look!” he said, waving his hands. Mr. Stark shook his head. Dum-E gave a kind of triumphant chirp before rolling away.

“So,” Mr. Stark said as Peter rubbed the back of his neck, ready for him to start asking about his bad reaction to being called Mr. Parker. “Linner?” Peter let out a relieved sigh, thankful for the reprieve.

Unfortunately, it was rather brief.

“Want to share what that was about?” Mr. Stark asked as he dug his chopsticks into his fried rice.

“What _what_ was about??” Peter asked, ears burning a little.

“Okay, I can come right out and say it,” Mr. Stark said, tone flat and unimpressed. “What’s wrong with Mr. Parker?”

_“Sometimes,” Mr. Wesley said as they rode in the town car toward a congressman’s office, “the best way to lie is to tell the truth.”_

_“Tell the truth?” Peter asked, somewhat baffled._

_Mr. Wesley nodded. “It is much easier to control your expressions and emotions when there is truth to your words. A half-truth will usually sound sincere enough to make people believe you.”_

Peter shrugged, eating some of his chicken lo mein as he thought of an answer to Mr. Stark’s question. “I get called Mr. Parker at work all the time,” he said, poking half-heartedly at the soft noodles. “It’s like—really stressful there. They’re really professional all the time. It’s weirdly strict. They even had to buy me a new wardrobe to work there—it was part of my stipend—and it wasn’t generic stuff from Target, either.”

A little flicker of recognition showed in Mr. Stark’s eyes. “So, that Gucci bag?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. I needed it to fit in there, you know?” Peter thoughtfully chewed a piece of chicken.

_“Once you’ve got them with your half-truth, you deflect,” Mr. Wesley said, adjusting his glasses and staring at Peter with a small smile on his face. “Give them details to something mildly related, and let them draw their own conclusions.”_

“The thing is, at first it was pretty cool. I had the same stuff as the other kids at my school—it’s hard, being there on a scholarship. I mean, May and I aren’t exactly super poor or anything. We get by. But like… I don’t know how to explain it,” Peter said, allowing his voice to tremble a little—Mr. Stark would think it was because of embarrassment as opposed to nerves. Mr. Stark gestured for Peter to go on with his chopsticks, and Peter let out a heavy breath. “Okay, so I have this friend named Miles, right? He’s a little younger than me, and his mom and dad have decent jobs, so he has like an Xbox1 and a PS4 and a bunch of handheld devices, and a really sweet phone. Plus, his parents get him all kinds of art supplies and stuff so he can make stickers and do all sorts of neat things, right? _His_ family, who can buy him a lot of really cool things, _can’t afford_ to enroll him in my school. The tuition is really high, you know? So here I am—with way less money than him—attending because I was smart enough to get a scholarship, and I don’t…” Peter trailed off, helplessly.

“You started to fit in, when you got those things?” Mr. Stark asked, almost gently.

Peter shrugged, a little helplessly. “I guess, yeah. So it was cool, but—it’s just really intense, some of the things I do there. It’s really,” he paused and twisted his face, as though trying to think of how to finish his sentence.

“It’s work,” Mr. Stark said with a nod. Peter looked at him with a confused twist in his brow. “You’re doing a pretty prestigious internship, and it’s a lot of work, and rubbing elbows with a lot of fancy bigwigs, right? You have to make a good impression all the time, and it’s probably the only place you’re constantly called Mr. Parker, isn’t it?”

Peter gave a helpless little smile. _Nailed it,_ he thought. “Yeah, yeah I guess that’s it, Mr. Stark.”

“Well kiddo, I hope you start getting comfortable enough around me to start calling me Tony, but I understand. I’ll keep the ‘mister’ out of your name from now on, okay? Did you get that, Fri? We need a different designation for the Spiderling.”

“Sure thing, Boss. What designation is preferred?”

“Um… Peter?”

“Confirmed, Peter.”

Peter swallowed and focused on calming his heartbeat and the heat that was rising to his cheeks. Mr. Stark was being so nice. Peter couldn’t help but feel bad about the whole conversation. “Thanks,” he murmured.

“Okay, I’m done embarrassing you, Underoos,” Mr. Stark said with a little smirk. “After this there were a couple of upgrades I was thinking of adding to your suit. Then we’ll wrap up for the night and you can sleep in that room I had the staff get ready for you. Tomorrow is a new and exciting day.”

Peter felt guilt eating at him for the rest of the day as he tweaked his webfluid and looked over the new suit with Mr. Stark. It was like a horrible, shame-filled monster was scraping it’s claws against his stomach and his chest, whispering nasty thoughts into his head about how bad he was, with how easy it was for him to lie to his hero. When they called it a night, Peter trudged up to the guestroom assigned to him with a heavy heart. After he changed into some pajama pants and a long sleeved tee-shirt for sleep, he settled on the edge of the bed, thinking.

Maybe—maybe he could tell Mr. Stark about—

No.

Peter shook his head. He barely knew Mr. Stark. And really, what made him so much better than Wesley or Fisk, anyway? This was how it started out with them, too. No, it was better to just keep his mouth shut.

But Mr. Stark was different, somehow. Peter couldn’t put his finger on it. He didn’t know if it was because he had followed Mr. Stark since he was a little kid, or if it was because of the easy attitude they had while working together, but there was something about the man; something that put Peter at ease. Being around him was a little nerve-wracking, at first, but once they started working together, Peter couldn’t help but relax, and let go of some of the grief and anxiety and anger that was wrapped around his heart. The weight of everything he was carrying on his shoulders just lessened when Mr. Stark was near him, and it was soothing in a way nothing had been in a long time.

A piece of him trusted Mr. Stark, and if anyone would have the resources and the smarts to help him out of his predicament, it was Iron Man. Peter frowned as he stared at the door. He felt a sense of determination fill him. He could tell—he _would_ tell. He’d tell Mr. Stark everything he knew. He needed to clear his conscious.

Because he had done some bad things, working for Mr. Fisk. Intimidating people, interrogating people, bringing people to him, instead of delivering them to the police where they belonged. He used his powers to help a bad guy.

_He used his powers to help a bad guy._

Peter swallowed, resolve wavering. Those ever-present Accords popped into his head again.

Peter didn’t know what would happen to him if anyone found out what he was doing for the Kingpin. Mr. Fisk had so much wealth and so many contacts that it would be difficult to pin any of the criminal business associated with the Kingpin on him. He was smart. Even if Mr. Stark believed him (and there was no telling how that would pan out), how could he possibly get Mr. Fisk arrested? And Mr. Fisk had a lot of government contacts, too. He may not be a fan of Secretary Ross, but he certainly knew how to get the man’s ear. Mr. Stark said they were working on some amendments for the Accords, not that they were set or that the document had been thrown out. It was already ratified by 117 countries. That meant it could still be used to round up some enhanced people. If Mr. Fisk gave Ross Peter’s name, he’d be on that ocean-prison before he could blink. He shivered, rubbing his arms vigorously as he tried to think of what to do.

Peter sighed, wondering what Ben would tell him to do in this situation. It was getting harder and harder to recall his advice—and he never failed to give good advice. Ben would know what to tell Peter right from the beginning. Peter’s heart cracked a little at the thought of his uncle. It had been a year now. It had been a year since his uncle died, and Peter was starting to forget. He couldn’t remember how he laughed. He couldn’t remember the sound of his voice. The other day, when they were moving some boxes around from the move, Peter opened one up that held a lot of Ben’s old things and he caught a whiff of something he couldn’t place until he remembered that it was Ben’s cologne. He didn’t know he could remember _or_ forget what someone smelled like until that moment. Even the details of his face were starting to fade out, and it terrified Peter how easy it was to forget someone so important to him.

His phone rang suddenly in the silence, causing Peter to jump. He frowned curiously at it, seeing that Mr. Wesley was calling him. He searched his memory, trying to remember if he even told Mr. Wesley he had left town for the weekend. He was positive he told the man he wouldn’t be available. He picked up his phone, thumb hovering over the green icon when a sudden thought struck him. What if Mr. Stark was recording everything that went on here? After all, he had been warned that he would be recording things in Peter’s suit (although, Peter had yet to see any evidence of this fact). Peter stood and searched his room, phone in hand. It had stopped ringing. He was trying to find anything that would serve as a camera or monitoring device. His phone rang again and he stared at it, alarmed. He wasn’t sure if it was safe to answer, but if Mr. Wesley called twice in a row, it meant he wasn’t messing around. He felt his pulse race as he looked around, trying to determine the best course of action.

“You appear to be in distress, Peter,” FRIDAY chimed from somewhere in the room, causing Peter to jump. Yep, he was definitely being monitored. When she first announced her presence to him after he entered the compound, he just about had a heart attack, but now he was starting to get used to her. He didn’t realize she would be available in the private areas in the compound, though. “Shall I alert Boss?”

“N-no, that’s okay, FRIDAY,” Peter said, cursing when the call went to voicemail again. Mr. Wesley was going to be so upset when he finally got ahold of Peter. “Hey, FRIDAY?” Peter asked, glancing at his window. “Are—uh—hmmm,” he hummed, cutting his question off. He shouldn’t ask if he was being recorded. That would be suspicious. “I mean,” he stepped toward the window and placed a hand on the pane. “Can I open the window?” he asked, an idea taking hold of him.

“Yes, you can, Peter. However, I wouldn’t advise it because the temperature is very low.”

Peter grabbed his hoodie and threw it on, returning to the window as his phone rang a third time. He slid the glass open until there was a gap wide enough for him to crawl through. He hoisted his leg over the sill.

“Peter, it is advised that you cease participating in this dangerous action,” FRIDAY warned. Peter ignored her, climbing outside and up the building as he answered his phone.

“Sorry, Mr. Wesley, but it’s a really bad time,” he said as he climbed to the edge of the roof and sat down, letting his legs dangle over the side. “I had to get away before I could answer you.”

“Get away from what?” Mr. Wesley asked. His voice was calm, but Peter could easily pick up the thread of irritation in his tone.

“Just—away. What’s going on?” he asked, quietly.

There was silence on the other end of the line. Peter bit his lip, resisting the urge to fill the quiet with babble. He knew this was a trick of Mr. Wesley’s to make whoever he was talking to nervous. He said sometimes the quiet intimidated people, and they gave more details about things that were going on then they originally wanted. The bespectacled man knew Peter’s reasoning for being unavailable was vague, at best, but since he had no pressing assignments for the teen, he and Mr. Fisk had no reason to say no. Finally, he heard a small chuckle on the other end.

“I must say, you are taking to your lessons well, Mr. Parker.”

Peter swallowed, pushing his guilt from earlier down again. “Did you need something, Mr. Wesley?”

“We had a new target. Morris Bench. He had been doing a lot of works down by the docks all over the city, and he stole a lot of product and even some money from our employer. We have one of our men already searching, but we recently got new information that indicates he will be leaving the city tonight. I was calling to see how unavailable or available you might be to assist.”

Peter grit his teeth, feeling some irritation himself. “Mr. Wesley, I already told you I wouldn’t even be in the city. I’m not in New York right now and won’t be until tomorrow afternoon.” Peter heard Mr. Wesley murmuring something away from his phone.

“Alright, Mr. Parker. I really was only calling as a last resort. I had figured if you said you wouldn’t be in the city that you weren’t, but Mr. Fisk insisted I attempt to get ahold of you,” Mr. Wesley said. Peter could hear the small smile in his voice, and Peter let out a small sigh, somewhat disappointed that he couldn’t be of help to the assistant, even though the things he could help with were not legal or good. Mr. Wesley was just trying to do a job, same as Peter.

“I’m sorry Mr. Wesley. If you still need help tomorrow—”

“I’ll call you,” Mr. Wesley finished. “Oh, Peter, I wanted to let you know a new detail we’ve figured out about this mysterious weapons dealer.” Peter perked up, making an affirmative noise for Mr. Wesley to continue. He had been keeping his eyes peeled for the last week or so, trying to find more signs of these weird weapons, but outside of that random group of thugs that got away, whoever was using them was keeping the information on the downlow. “We have found that he and his crew seem to be stealing parts from the Department of Damage Control.”

Peter frowned, trying to remember who the heck they were. “The what?”

“The Department of Damage Control,” Mr. Wesley said with a reluctant sigh. “Which makes this even more complicated. Damage Control has funding from both Stark Industries and Confederated Global Investments.”

“Wait—wait are you saying that they’re stealing from—”

“Yes, Mr. Parker.” The heaviness of what Mr. Wesley said hit Peter like a sledgehammer.

“ _Shit._ ”

Mr. Wesley laughed—it was rare for Peter to swear around him—and Peter could almost see him shaking his head. “Indeed. Mr. Fisk was not happy, when he found out.” Knowing Mr. Fisk, he was certain that was an understatement. “It was somewhat terrifying to deliver the news.” Peter could only imagine. “At any rate, when you get back to the city, you should look into some of their movement history. It may help.”

“Alright Mr. Wesley. I’ll see you on Tuesday.” Peter said. After saying goodbye he hung up his phone and shoved it into the pocket of his hoody. He stared up at the stars, smiling to see how bright they shined out here. Ben always complained that the light pollution in the city made it impossible to see them. Peter was willing to bet his uncle would have loved to set up his telescope out here. He held out his hand in an L formation and angled it in the southwest sky, seeing a bright yellow dot low in the sky that he was almost certain was Saturn. He shivered in the cold, and felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes that he swallowed back.

“Hey, kid.”

Peter jumped and spun his head around, lowering his hand and gripping the edge of the roof tightly. Mr. Stark stood behind him by the roof access door, a frown on his face. Peter turned back and rubbed his hands against his eyes as quickly as possible, hoping it didn’t look like he had been crying. That would be so embarrassing.

He heard the sound of footsteps on concrete coming closer to him. When they stopped, Mr. Stark spoke again. “FRIDAY tells me you escaped out of your room through your window.” Peter shrugged, noticing how much closer the voice was now. “Any particular reason you did that instead of using the stairs, like a normal person?” Peter shook his head, looking up at the stars again, leaning back a little. Mr. Stark tutted behind him.

“I always climb out my window, Mr. Stark. It’s not exactly unsafe. At least, it isn’t for me,” Peter said, staring at the little _W_ shape that made Cassiopeia. He felt a sudden heat at his side, and he looked over abruptly to see Mr. Stark settling next to him, almost close enough to touch. He looked up at the sky too, lowering his glasses a little to peer over the edge of the frames.

“I never learned much about the stars when I was a kid,” he offered. Peter stared at him, a small frown on his face as he listened. “I was always more interested on what was here that I could touch, you know? Besides, no one thought it was important to teach me anything about it. It wasn’t until—” he cleared his throat, looking skyward still, “it wasn’t until Rhodey—you know, Colonel Rhodes? Yeah, it wasn’t until I met him that I realized people were really into it. I still can’t say that I learned a whole lot since then, which is sad, considering I’ve actually been to space.”

“I’ve always wondered if astronauts could see stars from space,” Peter said, the thought tumbling out of his mouth before he thought to keep it to himself. Mr. Stark looked at him from the corner of his eye and Peter shivered again, wrapping his arms around himself. “I mean, I could probably just google it—”

“They can,” Mr. Stark said, swallowing. “They’re so bright, Underoos—it’s indescribable.”

Peter smiled a little, looking back up at the twinkling lights scattered across the skies. In his heart, he knew how hard it was for Mr. Stark to open up at all about the alien invasion. When he was small, he just thought it was amazing that his hero could fly up into a wormhole and come back out unscathed. Now that he had _seen_ some things, and that he had _done_ some things, he wondered if Iron Man had any idea that he would come back at all when he launched himself at that hole in the sky. Part of him wanted to ask—wanted to see if Mr. Stark knew how to keep the guilt and the fears and the nightmares from swallowing him whole. “My uncle used to take me stargazing,” he offered instead. Mr. Stark made a hum of encouragement. Peter shifted a little on the hard concrete. “He used to tell me the stories of the constellations.”

“Oh?” Mr. Stark said, curiously. “How about you tell me one? I’m a blank slate here.”

Peter shrugged a little before he pointed up. “Do you see that weird _W_ in the sky there? That’s Cassiopeia. Ben told me she was a very vain woman, who often bragged about how pretty she was. One day, she said she was even more beautiful than the sea nymphs. Well, Poseidon didn’t like that, so he set out to punish her and her husband.”

Peter grinned as he pointed out several constellations to the man, with him making all the right faces at the mythos behind each one, and a warmth blossomed inside Peter that made him forget the cold altogether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Writing Notes:  
> 1\. This was supposed to be short. Not a whole chapter. But it was _so_ lacking for the rest of the fic, I couldn’t help myself. So have some sweet, lovely, Irondad-Spiderson interactions. 
> 
> 2\. I’ve searched. I’ve searched, I tell you. I have no idea if Dum-E stands for anything. Also, who doesn’t love those bots? Peter would be so excited/fascinated/curious about them, I’m sure of it. At least at first. A giant Iron Man nerd like him? Meeting the first AIs the guy made? Of course he would. Plus, I needed some fluff. So here is robot fluff. 
> 
> 3\. For those of you who don’t know, shabbat is the sabbath. It goes from Friday at sundown to Saturday at sundown. Can you imagine living in a place where you _have_ to run all your errands on the holy day? Because that is how the US was designed for a long time (still is, in some places). Everything revolved around the Christian day of worship (still does, in many places) for Jewish families. So I have to adjust. Also, I may have to go back and fix some things. I don’t have Peter observing shabbat, but I have him and May observing Shavuot? Does that seem off to people? I’m learning as I go, and I appreciate your patience (and advice). 
> 
> 4\. Hello, guilt. I wondered when you’d show up. Poor Peter. He really, really just wants to be able to trust Tony, and maybe ask him for help. There are too many factors preventing him from doing so. 
> 
> 5\. Loss is a funny thing. Grief doesn’t go away. It doesn’t get better with time. But eventually, you get used to your loss. Occasionally, it will pop up and slap you in the face. For the most part, you go about your day. One of the weirdest things about loss (in my opinion) is how much we forget about someone we want to remember. You know in your heart what someone looks like and sounds like, but then when you try to recall in detail, things just disappear. The first year is the hardest, and I’m positive Peter is still feeling that grief in an acute way. I wanted to capture that a little to remind everyone that losing Ben had a pretty heavy impact. 
> 
> 6\. If you watch the first season of Daredevil on Netflix, James Wesley is a lot more than just a bad guy. He’s a friend of Fisk. He admires Fisk. He fears Fisk. He’s very complex (and has to be, to do the type of work for this guy that he does). I’ve been trying to capture that throughout the story. Basically, what this means for his and Peter’s relationship, is that Peter _understands_ where he’s coming from, which makes it easier for him to work with the guy. It doesn’t make anything that happened better, or excusable, but it does smooth the path a little for the two of them at this point. 
> 
> 7\. Damage Control is a company that Fisk and Tony co-owned in the comics. Fun fact. ;-)
> 
> 8\. I have it in my head that Ben would have done stuff like this (stargazing, life as teaching moments) with Peter. If you want a better feel on my interpretation of Ben, you can check out my fic [ (Not Just) Father’s Day.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19724095) You know. For background info. And if you want fluffy fluffy feels. 
> 
> FYI, I've got some other projects that I'm working on/starting next month, so I may get off schedule with my posting. As it is, I may not have a mid-week teaser for those of you who follow me on tumblr. But I'll do my very best. Thanks everyone, for reading. If you want to ask, prompt, or just say hi, I'm [@hanuko](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/) on tumblr if you want to pop on by. Please leave a comment telling me what you thought. Thanks for reading!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Hey, buddy,” Peter said jovially. He dodged to the side as the man swung the gun up, seemingly set on pistol-whipping the vigilante. “Whoa! Careful with that!” Peter exclaimed, jumping back. “You’ll shoot your eye out!” Peter chirped as he dodged again as the man barreled toward him, leaping onto the wall as another series of flashes went off. “What, nothing?” he asked the silent man before him. “You know, A Christmas Story. Ralphie? All he wants is a BB gun, but everyone keeps telling him he’ll shoot his eye out? Come on, that’s some quality firearms humor, there.”_
> 
> _“Well,” said a gruff voice from the shadows, “I thought it was funny.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~peeks out from around the corner~
> 
> Hiiiiiii. 
> 
> I am SO SORRY! I can't believe I let two months go by without updating this. I had an emergency surgery at the beginning of last month, and everything just kind of spiraled from there. Once the skies stay grey and miserable, I start getting miserable and stop doing the things I like to do. Yay SAD. Also there is another project that I'm working on that has an actual deadline, so I have had to focus all my energy on that while combating this annoying lethargic depression that has come over me. 
> 
> I hope to be a little more regular with my updates, and thank you, those of you still sticking with me. I love you guys.

“This is so cool.”

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, pressing his lower back against the side of his desk.

“Don’t start. It’ll go to his head,” MJ said, doodling in her sketchbook as she sat on the edge of Peter’s bed.

“This is the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Right?” Ned exclaimed, spinning around in Peter’s computer chair.

“Like—seriously, _the_ coolest thing. I don’t even know what to call you, now. Like, do I still call you Peter? Or are you Spidey? Maybe _Mr._ Spider-Man? I—“

“Miles,” Peter interrupted, through gritted teeth. “Please, _please_ don’t _ever_ call me Mr. Spider-Man. That’s just—no.”

Miles grinned, bouncing a little on the top bunk. MJ glared up at him as his movements shook the frame. Peter’s friends had finally managed to convince him to get Miles in on the secret, and it went just about the way Peter expected it to.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe I tagged a wall with Spider-Man.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Peter moaned. “It was a _legal wall!_ ”

The other teens laughed at Peter’s outburst, with the exception of MJ (who didn’t suppress her smirk). Ned gave Peter a puzzled smile after they all calmed down. “You know, I can’t figure Mr. Fisk into this equation.”

Peter felt his heart stutter. _Give no sign of panic, Parker. MJ will see it in less than a second, and then where will you be?_ “What do you mean?” He asked, offering his own confused smile back.

“Why does he have you going after certain bad guys out there? He’s a businessman, right? What does he have to do with all that?”

“It’s probably his outreach programs,” Miles said knowledgably. “Uncle Aaron said that a _lot_ of people who work for Fisk now used to be crooks.”

Peter nodded, relieved. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it. There are some criminals that he knew personally, because of his outreach in the community, and they went back to crime because they weren’t having the same kind of success with real jobs, you know? With the Devil so active down there, Mr. Fisk gets scared for a lot of them, so he tells me who they are so I can get them to lock up. That way, the Devil won’t beat the snot out of them.”

“I thought the Devil was going after human traffickers and things like that,” MJ said, thoughtfully.

Peter shrugged. “I don’t know about all that. Most of the people I’ve gone after were dealers,” which was _not_ a lie. He didn’t have to say _what_ the people were dealing—be it drugs, humans, or otherwise. “The Devil,” Peter couldn’t contain a shudder, remembering their last meeting, “he’s different. He doesn’t care if whoever he beats lives or dies. I’ve come across the aftermath of a couple of his fights and, well, it’s not pretty.”

Ned grimaced and MJ nodded, turning to a blank page in her sketchbook. “Okay, fine, but how does Iron Man fit into all this?”

“Wait—” Miles interrupted, staring at Peter with wide eyes. “What about Iron Man? Why is she bringing up Iron Man?”

“Miles,” Peter began, trying to think of a delicate way to explain that Tony Stark was now somehow involved in his life. He thought about it too long.

“Iron Man made Peter a new Spider-suit!” Ned exclaimed, gleefully, not able to contain his excitement.

“ _Ned!_ ”

“Iron Man made Peter a suit? _Tony Stark_ made you a suit?” Miles asked, jumping down and looking around, as though he expected the suit to suddenly appear.

“Guys—”

“I have to see it! Oh my God, could you imagine the tech? Come on, Peter, pull it out!”

Peter sighed and glanced at MJ beseechingly. MJ shrugged and looked on dispassionately, and Peter knew he was on his own. He frowned and grabbed his bookbag, reluctantly pulling out the suit. Miles stepped forward and after glancing at Peter for permission, grabbed it and climbed back up to the top bunk. After he settled, he dragged his fingers over the course fabric, tracing the fine lines almost reverently. “Whoa,” he breathed as he examined it. “I can feel some of the wiring in here, it’s really subtle though. Is it computerized like the Iron Man suit?”

Peter sighed and flopped next to MJ on the bottom bunk, staring at the mattress above him blankly while he laid back. “Yeah, it is,” he offered. He turned his head to catch MJ staring at him in thought again. She offered a small smile and lifted her book, carefully moving her pencil across the paper. Peter looked back at the bunk above him. “It’s kind of frustrating, actually. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m being watched or something, when I have it on,” he said, finally voicing his concerns about the nature of the suit he was given. “I mean, not that I have anything to worry about—”

“A violation of privacy is a violation of privacy, Parker,” MJ cut him off, smartly. Peter was thankful the rest of the lie he was forming didn’t leave his mouth. “Whether or not there’s something to warrant it doesn’t matter.”

“Oh my god,” Miles exclaimed, hanging waist down from the top bunk to look at MJ and Peter upside down. His brown eyes were twinkling and an excited grin took over his face. “What if we hack the suit?”

“What?” Ned asked, aghast. Peter cocked his head in confusion.

“Well, MJ’s right, this is a major violation of privacy if Peter is being watched or tracked or whatever, and I’m willing to bet everyone in this room would love to see how some Stark tech actually works—”

“Dude,” Ned began with a slow headshake. “No. We shouldn’t do that.”

“Why not?” MJ asked, closing her sketch book. Peter sat up.

“That is one of the greatest ideas to come out of this bedroom,” Peter said, ignoring Ned’s concern. “Do you think you could, Miles?”

Miles shrugged. “Maybe. I’m not sure if my software is up to something of Stark’s, though.”

“It’s not the software, it’s how you use it. If there’s a backdoor, it can be found,” Ned said firmly. Peter looked at him hopefully, but Ned shook his head. “ _No._ Absolutely not. Look guys, if Peter has nothing to worry about, we shouldn’t mess with this suit. Iron Man being able to track Spider-Man is a good thing, especially if Peter gets into trouble.”

Peter flopped back down, scowling. “This makes me feel like he thinks I’m just some kid.”

“Peter, you _are_ a kid,” Ned said with a little chuckle.

Peter threw up his hands, narrowly missing MJ. He hadn’t noticed he sat so close to her. “Yeah, a kid who can stop a bus with his bare hands!”

“Really?” Miles asked, a little awed. Peter smacked his own face with the palm of his hand in annoyance.

“We’re not hacking the suit, Peter,” Ned said, firmly, and Peter agreed, grudgingly.

MJ lowered her notebook. Peter glanced at it and saw a rough sketch of him, staring desolately at the bed above him. MJ had mentioned she was going through a despair phase with her art. He had to say, she captured his moodiness so well that he figured he should probably lighten up a little, at least around her. She noticed things a little too well.

“So, Miles, we actually had a proposition for you,” MJ began, closing her sketchbook. She reached down to the floor and grabbed her bookbag and swapped her sketchbook with a spiral notebook from it.

“What?” Miles asked.

“I assume you follow _TheRealSpidey_?” MJ was all business.

“Of course,” Miles said with a scoff, as if it were obvious (and maybe it was. Their twitter now had 5000 followers. Who knew?). “I started following it two days after it popped up on Twitter. Why?”

“You’re looking at the Mods.” Miles gaped at MJ, looking between her and Peter.

“No way,” Miles breathed. “You guys are running it?” he asked, avidly. His grin reappeared, wider than ever.

“Yep,” Ned said, cheerfully.

“I would like to point out that I am an innocent bystander in all this who objected. _Vehemently_ ,” Peter added.

“It was hardly vehement,” MJ said.

“It was definitely vehement.”

“Peter, all you said was that you didn’t think you needed PR, and then when you heard how many followers you had, you barely objected at all,” Ned said in a tone that brokered no argument.

“Anyway,” MJ carried on, despite the interruption, “we were hoping you would be willing to help us. We really could use some of your artistic skills for a blog we’re coming up with. Also, I wanted to see if you can help me write the articles, since I’ll be so busy editing and monitoring the feed.”

“Yeah,” Miles began, eagerly. “I can do some pretty neat art for you, no problem, and I’m pretty freaking good at writing.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “You guys know this won’t really go anywhere without real photos though, right? I mean, my art is pretty good, and MJ’s is _dank,_ but without actual visible evidence the blog will never take off.”

“Oh, we don’t need to worry,” MJ said, smirking again. Peter glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. “Peter’s got it covered.”

“MJ—”

“How?” Miles interrupted Peter before he got the chance to tell his friends—yet again—that he was not going to be sticking his camera to any random surfaces in the city, thank you very much.

“Peter’s going to web his camera to walls and take selfies,” Ned said.

So much for that.

“Awesome!”

“No, guys, it might not even work—”

“It’ll work,” MJ said, cutting Peter’s protests off. “I checked your settings. You have a way to set it to take a series of shots every 30 seconds, hands free.”

“Can you imagine the way these will look?” Miles said, excitedly.

_Blurry,_ Peter thought as he flopped back down, resigned to letting his friends talk him into taking photographs of himself while he fought crime. As they went on and on about all the possibilities for their blog, Peter couldn’t help but get a little excited about it, too. The automated setting would make the whole thing pretty simple.

Using the camera in practice showed there were more hurdles than Peter expected.

It was hard to hang around one specific stretch of sidewalk and fight crime. In Queens, they knew who Spider-Man was. Once he was spotted on a street, the would-be criminals usually ceased their activities and moved on. The photos that Peter did manage to get were extremely fuzzy and lacking in content.

Peter was just about ready to call the whole thing a wash when he was sent on some kind of a stake-out by Mr. Wesley one evening. The Bench guy still hadn’t been caught, and he took priority over the weapons Peter was hunting down. When Peter got back to the city after spending the weekend upstate, he found out the crook disappeared without a trace. No one had heard about him since, and the Kingpin was furious. Then, Bench slipped up.

It was a small, inconsequential thing. One of Mr. Wesley’s informants saw Bench loitering around downtown, purchasing a hotdog from a cart.

A _hotdog_ of all things.

And the cart he bought it from was one of Spider-Man’s frequent stops. He knew the area well.

So Peter, decked out in full Spidey regalia, hovered around the downtown area near said cart, sticking to rooftops and waiting, occasionally eating a hotdog with all the fixings—usually gifted to him from a passerby that wanted to share their gratitude, or were impressed by the flips he performed when asked. Sheer, dumb luck had Morris Bench visiting the same hotdog vendor while Peter was watching, and then the teen was in pursuit, following the criminal further downtown. The sun was starting to set when they made it to an empty warehouse in the international district, where Bench seemed to set up shop. The vigilante crept in through one of the upper windows and watched as Bench organized some of his bags. Peter was impressed. The fact that Bench could stay hidden in plain sight like this was pretty amazing. Peter gauged his surroundings, eyes landing on a half-packed suitcase that Bench kept adding things to.

_Huh. Looks like he’s getting ready to head out of town,_ Peter thought, surveying his surroundings to determine the best way to end this quickly. His eyes narrowed as he finally noticed how small the space was—it may have been abandoned, but there were still tons of boxes lying around. The paths between the crates were narrow and difficult to navigate. Bench would most likely think he’d be able to get out quicker if he stayed in this confined, but relatively open space.

Suddenly, the boy was struck with inspiration.

He quietly switched his settings on his camera, then webbed it to the rafter before quickly crawling away. As soon as 30 seconds hit, a series of flashes went off, distracting Bench. The man pulled out a pistol and waved it around wildly, trying to find whatever was setting off the flash. Peter dropped down behind him and tapped him on the shoulder, causing the man to spin around.

“Hey, buddy,” Peter said jovially. He dodged to the side as the man swung the gun up, seemingly set on pistol-whipping the vigilante. “Whoa! Careful with that!” Peter exclaimed, jumping back. “You’ll shoot your eye out!” Peter chirped as he dodged again as the man barreled toward him, leaping onto the wall as another series of flashes went off. “What, nothing?” he asked the silent man before him. “You know, _A Christmas Story._ Ralphie? All he wants is a BB gun, but everyone keeps telling him he’ll shoot his eye out? Come on, that’s some quality firearms humor, there.”

“Well,” said a gruff voice from the shadows, “I thought it was funny.”

Peter stilled at the sudden appearance of the other man. He stood in the doorway of the building, a silhouette in the moonlight. Peter could barely make out a figure that was roughly his height, when his spider sense shot up his spine. He turned just in time to see Bench swinging his fist toward Peter’s face before he was clocked so hard, he fell off the wall.

Damn, this guy can really throw a punch.

Peter got up, deciding to focus on the closer threat, fists in front of him, but Bench was too quick. He punched Peter again, snapping the teen’s head back. Peter stumbled and stepped back, crouching low into a better position to grapple him. When Bench lunged at him, Peter managed to press forward and wrap his arms around the crook’s knees, pulling him to the ground. Peter shot up and backed away, aiming his webshooter. His spider-sense went off again and Peter just managed to dodge a punch from his unknown assailant, who had suddenly appeared beside him.

It was Daredevil.

_I’m dead._

Peter scrambled back as his camera went off again, dodging and shooting his webs, which Daredevil avoided with ease.

“What is your problem?” Peter shouted, flipping backwards to avoid another flurry of punches.

“My problem is that you shouldn’t be here,” Daredevil grunted, following after him on the offensive.

“I could say the same to you!”

Finally Peter was back against the warehouse wall, fists up and ready. He may not have hit anyone yet, but damnit, at this point he would have to in order to scrape through this fight. Maybe if he aimed for the arms it wouldn’t be so bad.

Daredevil stopped a couple of feet away from him, slowly lowering his fists. Peter stared at him, hands still up and ready to strike, wondering about the other vigilante’s sudden change. One minute he was charging him, and now he was backing off. It was confusing.

Peter swallowed and looked over Daredevil’s shoulder, suddenly noticing an important detail he had forgotten about.

Morris Bench was gone. His suitcase was, too.

“Shit!” Peter shouted, running around Daredevil to where Bench had been.

“You won’t find him,” Daredevil said, calmly. Peter spun around, sputtering.

“What?”

“That guy is clever. He’ll be long gone, and most likely nowhere you would ever think to look.”

Peter stared toward the door that was swinging slowly, creaking as it went.

“Awww, man!” Peter said, kicking the ground, frustrated that he let himself get distracted. “I had him!”

“At least you got your boss’s merch back,” Daredevil sneered. Peter rolled his eyes.

“Dude, what is your deal?” he asked, exasperated. “I already told you, I’m not working for anybody.” Suddenly, his phone buzzed. Peter sighed, pulling it out of his utility belt, wondering how he was going to tell Wesley that now was a bad time. His jaw dropped open when he saw the name.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Daredevil asked, sounding a little alarmed. He approached Peter cautiously, as though worried he would spook him.

Peter swallowed and with a quick gesture for quiet, answered the call.

“H-hello?”

“Hey, kid.”

“Hi, Mr. Stark,” Peter said. He thought Happy was in charge of this sort of thing. Wasn’t that what _Point Guy_ meant? He glanced nervously at Daredevil, who stopped approaching and cocked his head at him, examining him with a curious expression. Well, at least Peter _thought_ it was curious, based on his body language and the small part of his face he could see. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Mr. Stark said, casually. Peter heard a couple of voices in the background. “Just, you know. Got a ping. Thought I’d check on you.”

“A ping?”

“Yeah. A ping.”

Peter furrowed his brow, trying to figure out what Mr. Stark was talking about.

“What kind of ping?”

“Just a regular old ping,” Mr. Stark continued, but Peter could hear a touch of concern in his tone. “A spider-suit, ping.”

Peter growled and smacked his palm against his forehead.

“Underoos,” Mr. Stark began, his tone a mixture of irritated and impressed, “did you just _growl_ at me?”

“Mr. Stark, are you seriously stalking me again? I thought we talked about this!”

“Whoa, whoa. Stalking is a strong term. Also, an inaccurate one. I am not following you around like some creepy old man—”

“Could have fooled me,” Peter muttered.

“Hey, watch it!” Mr. Stark interjected, but Peter was pretty sure he was trying to cover up a laugh. “Your suit notifies FRIDAY if you get into any trouble. Did you take a hit a little bit ago?”

Peter sighed. “Mr. Stark.”

“Come on, Pete, level with me.”

Ever since that trip to the compound, Peter found himself torn between admiration and exasperation when it came to Tony Stark. This was no exception.

“I got hit a couple of times, yeah,” Peter said, reluctantly. He heard Mr. Stark draw a breath—to lecture, panic, or make fun, Peter did not know—and he spoke again quickly to cut the man off. “But I’ve been hit harder. Geez, just the other day, I crashed into the pavement so hard that I took a chunk out of the asphalt.” Peter winced. That might not have been his best line to go with to avoid a panicking, lecturing, laughing-at-Peter’s-expense Iron Man. “I never got a call then. What’s different?”

“Well, when I got the ping _tonight_ , your suit indicated there were two other people near you, who were most likely causing you harm. I called to see if you could answer.”

“What would have happened if I couldn’t?”

“Well, there’s a protocol where Iron Man comes down and saves your ass—”

“Mr. Stark!” Peter glanced up at Daredevil and saw a small, confused smile gracing the man’s jaw. _Oy gevalt._ He was never going to live this down.

“What? It’s effective, and it gets you out of trouble—”

“I’m okay. I’m hanging up now.”

“God, teenagers. You’re all so moody.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Stark.”

“’Night, kid,” Mr. Stark got out before Peter pressed the end call button.

“So,” Daredevil began, resting his thumbs in his belt loops. There was another series of flashes, but Daredevil paid them no mind. “Tony Stark just, what, calls you?”

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose before climbing back up the wall to retrieve his camera. Maybe if he ignored him, Daredevil would just leave him alone.

“You know, I’ve been wondering about the suit. It seems like Stark Tech. Is it Stark Tech?”

_Ugh, what an asshole._

“Wait a minute, let me guess,” Daredevil almost seemed to be relishing this. “Iron Man came and recruited you, a child, I might add, and in exchange he gave you some pretty nifty tech?”

_Don’t rise to the bait, Parker._

“But now he’s got some kind of a guilt complex about you, huh?”

_Don’t do it. You can just crawl out of here, and Daredevil won’t be able to keep up._

“That’s why he needs to check on his little superhero?”

“Oh my God, you are the _worst_ ,” Peter barked, hanging his camera off his belt before he dropped back down to the floor. He walked right up to Daredevil in his anger. “You know that, right? You are the absolute worst. I’m not a kid, Tony Stark calls me for reasons that you don’t need to be concerned with, and there are no misplaced guilt issues.”

“Who said anything about misplaced?”

“What are you even doing here?” Peter asked, exasperated.

Daredevil went very still and stared at Peter. Peter fidgeted under the scrutiny. “Morris isn’t that bad,” the other vigilante began, almost hesitantly.

Peter’s jaw dropped, but his surprise remained hidden by his mask.

“It’s not that surprising, really.” Okay, how could he _possibly_ know what Peter was thinking? The only part of his body that moved was his _face._ His covered-up face. “He stole some stuff he shouldn’t have stolen and got into a couple of scuffs, but he’s trying to make a new life for himself.”

Peter wanted to scream everything he knew about Bench. He wanted to shout about how many of his own men he hurt on his way out, or how with the amount of coke he stole from Kingpin, he was definitely set to make a life for himself, but not a _new_ one. The ever-present possibility of Peter’s conversation being recorded stopped him. That call from Tony was the perfect reminder of how much Peter needed to watch his mouth. He folded his arms across his chest. Daredevil mirrored him.

“I’ll be upfront with you, kid,” he relented, relaxing slightly. “I asked Morris to lure you out.”

“What?” Peter took a step back, inching toward a wall so he could make a quick escape.

“He hung around here because I knew he was on a watchlist, and I was almost certain you would be the one to find him. You’ve got a pretty impressive track record.” Daredevil offered a small smile. “To be frank, after our last meeting, I realized I needed to talk to you again.”

“About what?” Peter asked, suspiciously.

Daredevil sighed and shifted, looking uncomfortable. “Look, you may not want to admit it, and that’s fine, but I _know_ you’re just a kid.” Peter opened his mouth to interrupt, but Daredevil barreled forward, intent on getting his message out. “Don’t worry about denying it or how I know. I just know. And I know you’re not going to stop doing this, so I want to help prepare you for this life.”

That was not what Peter was expecting.

“You said you didn’t know your strength, and based on how you just did with me and Morris, I get the feeling that the only things you _do_ know about fighting are from television.”

Peter blushed. It was true. Most of the moves he learned at all were from watching MMA fights.

“I want to teach you. I box. I can help you learn, and I have a pretty high tolerance for pain. We can feel out where a punch is too little and too much, and I can give you actual fighting techniques that are useful, instead of dodging until you are able to shoot your webbing.”

Peter stared at Daredevil in disbelief. Was he serious? Would he actually teach Peter some of his moves? Part of Peter was excited, but the rest of him was extremely apprehensive.

“Why?” he asked, suspiciously.

Daredevil adjusted his stance a little, but didn’t back down. “You’re out here, messing with things that you shouldn’t be messing with, and I get the feeling that pretty soon you’re gonna get into a fight that is way over your head. Damn it, kid, if I can’t stop you, I want to help you.”

“But you do terrible things to people,” Peter said, hesitantly.

“I haven’t killed anyone. I may be willing to, but I’ve never left anyone for dead, and I always find a way to direct the cops to the mess I leave behind.”

Peter shook his head. “But Healy—”

“That maniac did that to himself,” Daredevil said. His voice was firm and even. He wasn’t angry that Peter brought it up, but his tone left no room for argument. “Healy gave away some information he shouldn’t have. Before he gave up more, he killed himself. He was _that_ afraid of the Kingpin. I didn’t kill him.”

Peter thought over Daredevil’s words carefully. If what he was saying was true, then maybe there could be some trust, after all. But—

“A few months ago, I was patrolling in Hell’s Kitchen, and I found a trio of guys. One of them was dead. He had a broken neck,” Peter said. His heartbeat sped up as confronted the Devil about the first kill the vigilante had seen. “The ones that were alive kept whispering about _you_.”

Daredevil dropped his head, as if in reverence. “I’m gonna be straight with you, kid. I don’t have any qualms about killing these maniacs. They’re vermin, going after the weak and helpless. So I go after _them_ , and I make sure they get some form of justice.” Daredevil raised his head as he went on. “But I’ve never broken anyone’s neck. Every person I left behind was alive. I don’t kill unless it’s necessary.”

“Killing is never necessary,” Peter pressed. Every life had value, and no one had the right to take it away.

“It’s necessary when there is no other way to stop them, and I know some of the things you’ve seen. Some of the people you’ve put away. When you can’t put them away—when you can’t touch them, then killing is the only option left.”

Peter took another step back, his back now pressed against the wall. Daredevil held out his hands in a placating manner.

“Look, we don’t have to talk morals or philosophy. You and I will most likely never agree on this sort of thing,” he said, gently. “That has nothing to do with what I’m saying now. As far as I know, I haven’t killed anyone, and I want you to be as safe as possible. Please, let me help you.”

Peter swallowed, pressing his hands against the wall. Daredevil dropped his hands, and as Peter climbed up, he made no move to follow him. He thought long and hard about what Daredevil had said. Truthfully, he could see Healy killing himself before giving out any information on Fisk, if the man had someone to protect. And the guy with the broken neck was so _cold_ compared to the other two when Peter arrived, and Daredevil had _just_ left. Maybe Peter had jumped to the wrong conclusion. The deciding factor was that as soon as Bench was gone, Peter’s Spider-sense never acted up even once. Wasn’t Aunt May always telling him to trust his instincts?

Once Peter was back up by the skylight he entered through, he gave his answer.

“Okay.”

Daredevil lifted his head and turned towards Peter. “What?”

“Okay,” Peter repeated, a little louder. “I’ll be here next week. I have to make a couple of rounds in Queens, and I’m getting the feeling my boss isn’t going to have any more assignments for me for a while.” Mr. Fisk was going to be so upset when he found out Peter _had_ Bench and lost him. He was dreading the upcoming conversation. If he weren’t so good at what he did, and if Mr. Fisk wasn’t so focused on the guys stealing his stuff to make weapons, Peter was pretty sure he would have been dead long before now. I’m gonna be back on Monday. Will that work for you?”

Though Peter couldn’t see it, he got the feeling Daredevil was smiling at him.

“That works just fine, Spider-Man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Writing Notes:  
> 1\. I feel like Miles would be so excited to find out he knows Spider-Man, and that Spider-Man has a suit made by Tony Stark.   
> 2\. I don’t know the first thing about hacking. What I know is it’s not some crazy person clacking away at a keyboard at lightening speed. My husband tells me that like… it’s hours of prepping some kind of hacking software or something, and then plugging it in and hoping it works? Then trying again? Maybe it’s a device? Idk, all I know is, Miles pointed out in Into the Spiderverse that what Peter was doing was not hacking, and my husband was so delighted he giggled. If any of this is wrong, I apologize. I ain’t savvy.   
> 3\. Gen-Z speak is so hard! I mean, I’m not that far off. I’m an elder millennial. But the slang. All the slang is slang I used to use but everything means something different. The first time my niece said something was lit, I was like, “Excuse me?” Oof.   
> 4\. I don’t think Morris Bench will come into play in the future. I mean, the odds of a sequel to this monstrosity are slim. For those of you who don’t know, Morris Bench is [Hydro-Man](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/thedailybugle/images/e/e9/Hydro-Man.png/revision/latest?cb=20170411195529).   
> 5\. So Spider-Man started out wrestling, for those of you who didn’t know. I wanted to incorporate the background from the comics into this.   
> 6\. I don’t know if anywhere in the comics that Daredevil is on good speaking terms with any of the criminals except the Punisher (and speaking terms is being generous, I think), but hey, why not. Just let it happen. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed. Sorry again about the long wait. If you want to give me a prompt, ask me to talk to me about my stories, or just come say hi, come holler at me at Tumblr [@hanuko.](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“What I don’t understand,” Mr. Fisk said quietly as he steered Peter towards a quieter part of the room, “is the reason behind your abysmal performance.”_
> 
> _Peter swallowed and smiled at one of the senators who raised their glass in greeting. The pair started to meander his way, once the entrepreneur’s attention was caught. “Sir?”_
> 
> _“First, you go out of the city without warning or explanation,” Mr. Fisk murmured. Peter willed himself not to tense under the giant’s hand. “Then, when you return, you fail to find Mr. Bench, which is rather surprising, considering your overall performance,” his voice grew quieter as they approached the senator, a man with silvering hair and a grin that could scare a shark. “Now, you’re telling me that you can’t find enough evidence to track the idiot who is stealing from me? Mr. Parker, you’re making me wonder why I even hired you in the first place.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my darlings!
> 
> I'm so sorry this took so long to get out. The holidays were insane, and I had other things with deadlines that required my attention. On the bright side, because of this there are new fics to read! Yes. I'm shamelessly plugging. Shhhhhhh.
> 
> For my Stucky fans, check out [Private Eyes.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21982153/chapters/52454827) It's a whodunit, pretend relationship AU written for the Reverse Marvel Big Bang. 
> 
> For my Iron Dad peops, check out [So This is Christmas.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21968134) It's a sweet, low-key Christmas celebration featuring Peter Parker, May Parker, and Tony Stark. Yay family feels. ;-)
> 
> But NOW those are wrapped up, so I should be back on schedule with this one. Thanks for your patience!
> 
> Also, when did we get past 200 Kudos? 
> 
> That's so sweet! Thanks everyone! I really appreciate the support. 
> 
> Enjoy reading!

The event was beautiful. The venue was glittering with warm lights, and the soft sounds of a string quartet could be heard throughout the space. It was Thursday night, and Peter was attending a benefit that was held in Mr. Fisk’s honor—a recognition for all his hard work with the youth and impoverished in the city. Mr. Fisk stood tall, his meaty hand pressed firmly against Peter’s shoulder blade, which he used to lead Peter every which way throughout the party. Peter smiled and nodded where appropriate, refraining from adjusting his tie or fiddling with the cuffs of his jacket. Mr. Fisk was introducing him to some new potential shareholders, and he needed to be on his best behavior.

“What I don’t understand,” Mr. Fisk said quietly as he steered Peter towards a quieter part of the room, “is the reason behind your abysmal performance.”

Peter swallowed and smiled at one of the senators who raised their glass in greeting. The pair started to meander his way, once the entrepreneur’s attention was caught. “Sir?”

“First, you go out of the city without warning or explanation,” Mr. Fisk murmured. Peter willed himself not to tense under the giant’s hand. “Then, when you return, you fail to find Mr. Bench, which is rather surprising, considering your overall performance,” his voice grew quieter as they approached the senator, a man with silvering hair and a grin that could scare a shark. “Now, you’re telling me that you can’t find enough evidence to track the idiot who is stealing from me? Mr. Parker, you’re making me wonder why I even hired you in the first place.”

“I thought you hired me because I’m poor, smart, and make you look good,” Peter muttered before he grinned at the senator. After Mr. Fisk greeted him, Peter offered his own hand for him to shake, standing by and acting like the charming intern he was supposed to be. Mr. Fisk exchanged pleasantries with the older man, and Peter was prompted to speak up about several of the engineering projects he had worked on for the city. Peter decided not to mention the water pump. He was always on the fence about that project anyway, and recently he found out it was stolen. He hoped it hadn’t fallen into the wrong hands.

“Very cute, Mr. Parker,” Mr. Fisk said lowly, after the senator moved to speak to someone else at the party. The businessman had finally dropped his hand and Peter still went along with him obediently, like a dog told to come, walking in step with him.

His ability to follow the Kingpin without question grated on his last nerve.

“Sir,” Peter began, glancing to the side to ensure he was not overheard. Mr. Fisk chose some of the oddest places to ask him about the part of his job that was off the books, strictly speaking. “I’m sorry about the trip out of town. An unexpected opportunity came up, and I had to take advantage of it.”

“Yet, you can’t give me any details about this so-called _opportunity_?”

Peter smiled and nodded at other patrons they were passing, keeping up appearances. “Mr. Fisk,” Peter said, a false cheer brightening his tone, “I’m not able to share details. It wasn’t something that interfered with my normal duties, and honestly, shouldn’t you have someone _else_ on staff that’s more reliable than a fifteen-year-old intern?” Peter had started making quips to Mr. Fisk. Sometimes, it worked out in his favor. Other times, it incited the criminal’s very short temper. He mentally kept his fingers crossed.

Much to the teenager’s relief, the man chuckled. “Wesley told me you’ve been coming along with his training very nicely,” he said. Peter flushed, frustrated that it was the skills he was learning from Mr. Wesley that gave him the confidence he needed to navigate these situations. “It’s interesting to see it in action. I’ll accept that for now, Mr. Parker, but that doesn’t explain Mr. Bench or the weapons.”

Peter resisted the urge to sigh. “Bench disappeared. I already told you; Daredevil came out of nowhere and started attacking me. Bench got away, and this time he’s been covering his tracks really well. I have no way to know where to go with him,” he said, reluctantly. Mr. Fisk looked over at him and raised an eyebrow. Peter slumped slightly as he kept pace and looked at the floor. “As for the stolen goods, all I can do is apologize. Unless I know what one of the guys looks like, I’m stuck.” That was the complete truth. Peter had researched as much as he could for the movement of the trucks, where items were being held, how they were being disposed of, and with all of it being public record, it was not difficult to find the information he was looking for. The problem was it didn’t seem like the company knew it was being hit. Peter had a sneaking suspicion this could mean that the person doing the stealing actually worked there. That, or the government was working extremely hard to keep the thefts covered up, which wouldn’t be surprising, seeing how most _alien-supernatural-Avenger_ related crises tended to go belly up in seconds.

Mr. Fisk sighed and shook his head. His hand resumed it’s position on Peter’s shoulder. Peter contained his wince at the limb’s reappearance. “Mr.Parker—”

“Hey, Fisky!” Peter felt the blood drain from his face at the familiarity of that voice. Fisk turned back, then pulled at Peter’s shoulder to get him to turn around. Peter managed a nervous smile at the newcomer’s presence as Mr. Fisk pulled his hand from Peter’s shoulder, offering it to the well-known billionaire who seemed to appear out of thin air.

Tony Stark grasped his hand and shook it, adjusting his sunglasses. “I gotta say, Fisk, this is some shindig they threw for you,” he quipped. “Almost as good as one of mine.”

“I’m glad it serves to satisfy your standards, Stark,” Mr. Fisk said levelly, offering a small smile and a cordial nod of his head. Peter glanced between the two, unsure of how to act. This was possibly one of his worst nightmares. He couldn’t imagine running into Tony Stark _here_ of all places. Mr. Stark glanced at him and offered a little wink. “So, are you going to introduce me?”

Peter’s heart stopped. What the hell was Mr. Stark playing at?

“I was under the impression you already were acquainted with my young intern,” Mr. Fisk said, smoothly. Peter registered a hint of surprise in Mr. Stark’s eyes. _Oh shit_. He didn’t know that Peter told Fisk about him. Why the hell would he think Peter wouldn’t say anything to Mr. Fisk? He was gone for three days!

Two days?

It was hard to tell with the time zones.

“After all, last year he went on that retreat with you, isn’t that right, Mr. Parker?” Peter looked between Mr. Fisk and Mr. Stark, not sure what to say.

“You caught me,” Mr. Stark chuckled, rubbing his hand over his hair. “I thought he was off that week. I didn’t realize he told you.”

Peter cleared his throat. “I wanted to make sure I hadn’t violated any of the terms of my contract by going on that business retreat.”

Mr. Stark smiled warmly at him. “Hey, kid.”

Peter began to wonder if the guy knew any other way to greet him. “Hi, Mr. Stark.”

Mr. Fisk’s hand was back. Peter schooled his expression to one of polite indifference.

“I wasn’t aware you would be attending the benefit, Stark,” Mr. Fisk said, giving him a small smile.

Mr. Stark glanced at the hand on Peter’s shoulder, then quickly examined Peter’s face before returning his attention to Mr. Fisk. “Well, you do important work, Fisk. Why wouldn’t I attend?”

“You never have in the past,” Mr. Fisk replied, not missing a beat. Tony blinked and opened his mouth to respond, but the crime boss cut him off. “Nevertheless, I’m honored by your presence.”

Tony adjusted his ever-present sunglasses. “Well, I’m honored to be here, so we’re both honored,” he said, smiling. “Your intern does good work.”

Peter looked over at Mr. Fisk to gauge his reaction. He was giving Mr. Stark a sly smile.

“Trying to steal my employees, Stark?” he asked with a quiet laugh. His grip on Peter’s shoulder tightened slightly. Peter ignored the little zing of his Spider-Sense tingling at the back of his head, thinking Mr. Fisk’s animosity was actually directed toward the engineer instead of himself.

Tony shrugged. “Maybe,” he responded with a smirk.

Peter stared between the two, studying their expressions carefully. Mr. Fisk stood, tall and proud, a confident smile on his face. His hand was still holding Peter in place, as if claiming possession over him. Tony kept glancing between the hand, Peter’s face, and Mr. Fisk, looking mildly irritated. Peter was having a hard time placing the expression until Tony let out the tiniest huff of a sigh.

He reminded Peter of kids on the playground were told that other kids didn’t have to share if they didn’t want to.

Peter felt a wave of irritation wash over him. These two were doing the adult equivalent of fighting over a really cool toy. His jaw ticked slightly. Didn’t Mr. Stark have anything better to do then to get in a fight over him? Sure, Mr. Stark made Peter’s suit, and Peter had been to his lab twice so far, but that didn’t mean Mr. Stark could make waves for him with his boss.

“Well, it’s not as if I own Mr. Parker,” Mr. Fisk said.

_Yes you do,_ Peter thought.

“And it’s not as if your company wouldn’t be more ideal for his career trajectory,” Mr. Fisk continued, “although his work with my PA has shown he may have an aptitude for business. What do you think, Mr. Parker? Would you like to work for Tony Stark, given your prior experience with him?”

Peter looked between Mr. Stark and Mr. Fisk again. Mr. Fisk’s eyes narrowed very subtly.

“Well, sir,” Peter began, licking his lips. “I suppose it would depend on what Mr. Stark has to offer.”

Mr. Fisk threw his head back and laughed. Peter looked over at Mr. Stark who was smiling, although he also seemed to be dissecting Peter’s response.

“You never cease to impress me,” Mr. Fisk said. Peter felt a sense of relief wash over him, glad he maneuvered through the situation correctly. “Would you mind getting your camera? I’d like a photo of me and Stark.”

“Of course, Mr. Fisk,” Peter said before darting off to the private room. As he made his way through the ballroom, Mr. Wesley appeared at his side.

“You handled that very well,” he said quietly in Peter’s ear.

“Thanks, sir,” Peter responded. The bespectacled man followed Peter into the private room and waited quietly for him as he pulled his camera out of his bag. Mr. Wesley stared at him with a small frown on his face.

“Mr. Parker,” Mr. Wesley began, hesitantly. “Have I ever told you how I came to work for Mr. Fisk?”

Peter shook his head.

Mr. Wesley sighed and pulled off his glasses, cleaning them with a cloth from his pocket. “I was a little older than you,” he said, softly. “Just graduated from high school, and I scraped through by the skin of my teeth.”

Peter gaped at him. “But you’re so smart.”

Mr. Wesley smiled softly, still cleaning the same spot on his glasses. “Yes, and I always have been. Too smart for my own good. Definitely too smart for school.”

Peter understood that feeling all too well. Until he got to Midtown, he was bored. Sometimes, he still was.

“I won’t bother with the petty details, but I will say that I did not have much in the way of prospects and fell in with a bad crowd. I started doing things—illegal things—and I got in over my head. When Mr. Fisk found me, I was—not well, but he saw through the exterior, and he thought I was unique. Wilson,” he cleared his throat and looked away, staring at a point on the wall, “Wilson _saved_ me. I would have been dead in a gutter if he hadn’t come along. His only stipulations were that I clean myself up, and that I be loyal to him.”

Peter looked down at his camera, unsure of how to respond.

“And that loyalty has paid off in ways that I could never have imagined,” he turned back and held Peter’s gaze. “In all honesty, Wilson has become a friend—at least as much as he can be—over the years, all because he found me interesting and I have been faithful to him.”

Peter swallowed, his throat tightening. “I don’t understand why you’re telling me this, Mr. Wesley.”

“Mr. Fisk likes you, Peter,” Mr. Wesley said, bluntly. “He thinks you’re sharp, and resourceful, and quick on your feet. He admires your patience and relentless tenacity. You can go far with him. Look at where you are right now!” he shook his head a little. “Can you imagine where you’ll be five years from now? Ten years?”

“Mr. Wesley,” Peter said, slowly, “I haven’t done something to make you worry about me, have I?” Peter’s heartbeat was speeding up. He kept his toe behind the line when it came to Mr. Fisk. He hadn’t asked any questions, he kept his head down, and he kept moving along, already understanding that the only way out was to keep doing as he was told. “If this is because of Bench, I really _did_ get stopped by daredevil—”

“Peter,” Wesley said calmly, “I didn’t mean—I apologize. Seeing Tony Stark at one of our functions is unusual, and he wasn’t really intent on speaking to Mr. Fisk until he saw you were attending to him. When I couple that with the impromptu Avengers trip last summer and the fact that he built your suit and knows your alter-ego… I simply wanted to remind you that while your place here can be _frustrating_ at times, that there are a lot of advantages to your position.”

Peter took a couple of slow breaths to calm himself down. The irritation was back. Mr. Stark’s presence could only end badly for Peter. If Mr. Fisk thought at any point that Peter was useless—or worse, a potential snitch—Peter shuddered to think of the ramifications.

“I’m not sure if you remember,” Peter said, walking up to the doorway to stand next to Mr. Wesley, “but Mr. Stark was the first Avenger to sign the Accords.” Peter frowned, frustrated by the engineer’s unclear opinion on the subject. The only thing he had told Peter was that they were being reviewed and amended, but he didn’t say how. Peter was still unsure how they would impact him. “He didn’t do me or any other person like me any favors when he did that. Mr. Fisk has been—supportive. I don’t like some of the things he has me do, but I’ve gotten more opportunities working under Mr. Fisk then I’ve had with Iron Man. I think I’ve shown that I’m not going anywhere.”

Mr. Wesley smiled and replaced his glasses on his face. “Yes, Mr. Parker. I suppose you have demonstrated that. Let’s go find Mr. Fisk. I do believe he requested a photo with Iron Man.”

The rest of the night passed uneventfully, although Tony stayed through most of the function, and had lingered fairly close to Peter the rest of the night. It put Peter on edge but had the benefit of preventing the Kingpin or Mr. Wesley to question him further about his loyalty and his performance.

Peter had a hard time when Mr. Fisk’s events were on weekdays. It tended to interfere with school. The party ran so late that the next day, Peter was nearly late, and he struggled to stay awake through the day. Thankfully, MJ had the decency to poke him whenever he was started to drift in class, and Ned had even more questions about Spider-Man “for research purposes” which was interesting enough to keep him engaged. The continuous interactions with his friends helped tremendously. When they finally made it to PE, Peter couldn’t be more relieved about being able to go home and sleep.

“So you actually fought Captain America?” Ned whispered as they watched the video for the fitness test they were about to take.

Peter glanced around, making sure no one was paying attention to them. “Yeah,” he whispered, leaning closer to Ned. “I stole his shield.”

“So cool,” Ned breathed. The class got up and started moving to their positions, ready to rotate to each station within the hour. Gym was usually shared between all the grade levels, so Peter’s class was a mixture of freshmen through seniors. He and Ned partnered up and moved through the stations. MJ rotated the same stations, a new and obviously interesting book accompanying her. Every once in a while, Ned would raise his eyebrows and give a head shake when Peter was performing a little too well. Peter had to remind himself to slow down. A sudden aptitude for physical activity would be very suspicious.

Liz shared the class with them. She finished relatively early, and while Peter and Ned had started their sit-ups, she and a group of her friends sat on the bleachers, playing Marry-Screw-Kill. Peter tuned them out, focusing on his conversation with Ned about how Nationals were coming up. Peter had never been to a big competition like that before, and Ned was explaining Mr. Harrington’s rules for travel (which were oddly specific and seemed to be tied to the buddy system). While Ned was talking about the sights they would be able to see in Washington, Peter forgot himself and did several sit-ups in quick succession.

“Looking good, Parker,” Coach Wilson said. Peter winced and slowed down.

“But what about the Spider-Man?” Peter paused and turned around at the sound of his alter-ego’s name.

“It’s _just_ Spider-Man.” Liz and her friends were talking about _him_. He glanced back at Ned who looked about as startled as he was. “And did you guys see that bank security footage on YouTube? He took down like, four guys.” That was _weeks_ ago. Liz still talked about that?

“Oh, my God,” one of her friends said, rolling her eyes. “She’s crushing on Spider-Man.” Peter looked at Ned again who had a weird glint in his eye, but he was distracted by Liz’s response.

“Kind of,” she said, smiling a little.

“Ugh, gross. He’s probably like, thirty,” Betty Brant—the blonde sitting next to her—said, a little disgusted.

“You’ve never even seen him. He could be like—seriously burned,” the girl sitting on her other side said.

“I wouldn’t care,” Liz began firmly, “because I love him for the person he is on the inside.” Peter felt himself starting to blush. Maybe MJ was right. It looked like Liz liked him.

Well, she liked Spider-Man, at least.

Which meant she probably didn’t have any feelings for plain old Peter Parker at all. The boy sighed, letting go of a newly forming daydream involving him, Liz, and Coney Island.

“Peter knows Spider-Man!” Ned shouted, suddenly, shocking the room into silence. Peter turned to his (now former) best friend, aghast, jaw dropped.

“W-w-what, no! No I don’t!” he said, shaking his head. Liz—like the rest of the room—stared at him curiously. “Ned!” he hissed.

“Yeah right,” Flash said, dropping from the rope. “How the hell would Penis know Spider-Man?”

“I don’t!” He glared at Ned, who was opening and closing his mouth, unsure of what to say.

“He doesn’t,” MJ said, not looking up from her book. A couple of chuckles were starting. She placed a mark on the page she was on and snapped it shut. “He’s gotten some pretty cool pictures of him, though.”

Silence descended again. Peter blinked and looked between MJ and Ned, completely at a loss.

“What?” asked Flash in disbelief.

MJ stood and stretched. “Didn’t you know? The three of us—him, Ned and I—are running _TheRealSpidey_. Here’s a teaser for you; we’re about to post an article about Spider-Man taking on the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Peter’s our photographer.”

“Yep,” Ned grinned.

“What—I mean,” Peter stammered. “It’s not like I talked to him before I took his picture,” he said, lowly, glaring at Ned. “And I didn’t think we were talking about the blog,” he said, turning back to MJ.

His friend merely shrugged in response. “Well, we weren’t. Then Ned had to spill. Way to go, Ned.”

Ned blushed.

“No way,” Flash said, shaking his head and stalking towards Peter and Ned. “Prove it.”

“Your camera is in your bag, isn’t it?” she asked, nonchalantly.

Peter sighed. “No, it’s in my locker.” Several voices started clamoring for his attention and he stood up and waved his hands for quiet. “I have to go there after class anyway. If anyone wants to see the pictures I’ve taken, then just meet me there.”

At this, coach Wilson blew his whistle, telling everyone to get back to work.

After class, Peter, Ned and MJ went to Ned’s locker first because it was closer. When they finally got to Peter’s locker, several people had swarmed him, already waiting and begging to see the pictures. Liz was standing right next to his locker with a huge grin on her face. She was twirling her hair again. Peter opened the lock and pulled out his camera, pulling up his photos.

“Woah,” said Betty, standing next to Liz and craning her head around to examine the camera. “That is nice. When did you get that?”

Peter shrugged. “It was a birthday present last year.” He started swiping through the photos he had taken at the benefit, but Betty asked him to stop.

“Is that Tony Stark?” she asked. “Is he actually smiling in this? With teeth?” Peter glanced down at the photo she wanted to look at and had to say he was pleased with it. It was the one he took of Mr. Fisk and Mr. Stark together. The lighting was perfect, and both of them actually looked like they _liked_ each other. Mr. Fisk’s eyes were crinkled up and his grin was huge, taking over his face, and Mr. Stark’s smile was a little surprised, but it was big enough to cause little crinkles by his eyes, and he was actually showing teeth (which he rarely did for press photos). Peter had just made a (slightly inappropriate) joke about some of the attendees that neither of them were expecting.

“Yeah,” Peter said, shrugging a little. Betty gaped at him. “He was at the party they threw for Mr. Fisk last night. Mr. Fisk wanted a photo.”

The small group of people stared at him dumbly. Even Flash was at a loss for words.

“What?” he asked, scrolling back through his photos.

“What even is your life, Parker?” someone asked. Peter sighed and finally found the shots of him fighting against Daredevil.

“Why is it so high up?” Betty asked, noticing the awkward angle.

“Because I was in the rafters,” Peter said.

“Why?” Betty was relentless. It was that reporter in her.

_Vultures,_ Peter thought.

“Look, I wasn’t even supposed to be there, okay?” Peter said as the other students looked at the photos. Several were staring at him in awe. “I happened to see him, and I followed him.”

“You _followed_ him?” Liz exclaimed. “Are you crazy? He goes after criminals. That could have been dangerous!”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, fighting the urge to yawn. He just wanted to go to _bed_. “I know, alright? It was stupid. But when else would the opportunity come up? I mean, we were both in Hell’s Kitchen at the same time. How often does that happen?” he lied, easily. “So I followed him into this warehouse, and I was going to _ask_ for a picture, but those two guys were there, so he grabbed me and swung me up to the rafters and told me to stay put. I figured I may as well get what I came for.”

After a couple more questions, the crowd dispersed. Liz remained behind, waving off Betty. Ned and MJ stood a short distance away, waiting for Peter.

“Wow, Peter, that must have been so scary,” Liz said, staring at him with wide, brown eyes.

Peter chuckled a little nervously. “Yeah,” he said, truthfully, remembering how terrifying the experience felt. “It was.” Daredevil may not be so bad, but he still scared the crap out of Peter. He was beginning to wonder if these “boxing lessons” were such a good idea. Liz laid a hand on his forearm and smiled warmly at him, and Peter felt his face heating up.

“You know, I’m having a party tonight,” she said, smiling shyly.

“A party?” Ned asked, looking excited. Liz glanced at him before returning her attention to Peter.

“You should come,” she looked over at Ned again, then MJ. “I mean, you _guys_ should come,” she clarified, dropping her hand after another look at MJ. “If you’re not too busy, that is.”

Peter felt a grin taking over his face. “You want me to come to a party? At your house?”

Liz nodded.

“Uh—well,” Peter stammered, not sure what to say. On the one hand, this was a party with _Liz Allan_ , and she was inviting him personally. Maybe the two of them could get to know each other a little better, outside of Decathlon and school.

On the other hand, his bed was just waiting for him in his apartment, and he actually _made_ it this morning. What would be more perfect then falling into that cozy, soft, warm pile of comfort and not getting out until the morning?

“We’ll come,” MJ said smoothly, making Peter’s choice for him. Liz gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“That’s great,” she said, a little too cheerfully. Her smile became fully warm again when she looked at Peter. “I’ll see you there.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, heartrate spiking as he felt his face heat up.

_Don’t blush, don’t blush, don’t blush._

Liz grinned and tossed her hair over her shoulder before she walked off. As soon as she was out of sight, Peter staggered, falling back against his locker. Ned and MJ came up to him. Ned looked gleeful, and MJ was smirking again.

“Dude!” Ned exclaimed, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Did that just happen?” Peter asked, dazed. He was wondering if the sleep depravation was getting to him. He had just been through a very busy week.

“You’re welcome,” MJ said, adjusting her bag. “I’ve got to go. My Dad is waiting for me, but I’ll see you guys later tonight.” She smirked again before heading. Peter stared after her, still stunned, before turning back to his locker to grab his books for the homework he had this weekend. He shoved them in his bag and snapped the locker shut, then he and Ned exited the school, heading toward the bus stop. Ned rambled through the whole bus ride about the party and when they would arrive and what they would do, and whether or not they should wear something cool, like that one hat he owned.

“Peter, what if you came as Spider-Man?” he asked, excited, after they got off the bus near Delmar’s. It was still boarded up for repairs.

“Ned,” Peter chuckled, “Spider-Man isn’t a party trick, okay?”

“Well, okay,” Ned said, frowning a little as they arrived at the point where they went their separate ways. “But what if something bad happens? There won’t be anywhere to sneak off, and if there’s a home invasion or something—”

“Ned.”

“Come on, Peter,” Ned whined. “It would be so cool if Spider-Man just swung by because he was checking up on you or something. Think of how impressed Liz would be!” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Peter bit his lip, looking up the street. “Well—I’ll think about it.”

“Yes! May will be cool with you going, right?” Ned asked.

Peter shrugged. “Honestly? With all the work I do for my internship and school, and now the extra work I’ve picked up with Mr. Stark, I’m pretty sure she’ll be relieved I’m doing something purely social.” She had been hinting that maybe Peter should start joining in some of their synagogue’s youth group events.

“Excellent,” Ned said as they did their handshake. “I’ll text you for logistics after I talk to my mom. See you later!”

“Later,” Peter responded, waving as Ned turned the corner. Once his friend was out of sight, he sighed, heavily. So much for crashing out the second he got home.

He wondered if May would be willing to give them a ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Writing Notes:
> 
> 1\. I have _missed_ writing Fisk and Wesley. This was nice. 
> 
> 2\. I feel I need to say this whenever Peter has ill thoughts towards Tony. PETER IS AN UNRELIABLE NARRATOR! He is only seeing the world a certain way because of how his perspective has been colored. Good things don't just happen. There's always a downside for him. 
> 
> 3\. I wanted Wesley to have a real moment with Peter. Peter is likable, and at this point he has shown Wesley that he can be trustworthy. For those of you who watched Netflix's Daredevil, Toby Leonard Moore (Wesley) had said in interviews that the glasses served as a kind of mask. He never took them off in front of anyone except for Fisk. He fiddled with them, adjusted them, etc. but they helped him hide. I wanted to show that he trusts Peter using the same trick. 
> 
> 4\. James Wesley has no background except "lawyer guy." I don't think he even had a first name until the show. I've always liked the tropes where Fisk _finds_ Wesley. I like the stories where Wesley (for one reason or another) has hit rock bottom, and so an imperative part of his relationship with Fisk is that Fisk got him out of the bad. That's headcannon for me. It's part of why I write him the way I do. 
> 
> 5\. I love Ned. I love that he just will burst out that his friend knows Spider-Man. I love that when he learns something cool the rest of the world should know about it. I love that sometimes he just opens his mouth and he doesn't realize what comes out of it. I also love MJ for opposing reasons. I think the two of them balance out Peter. I kind of wish in Homecoming he was better friends with MJ, because maybe he wouldn't get in as much trouble. Long story short, these three have my heart. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment to let me know what you thought, or come holler at me on [tumblr.](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _After weeks of keeping his ear to the ground, roughing up criminals, and researching government transport and disposal trucks, he finally had something to go after due to the pure chance of being invited to Liz Allan’s party._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Okay, this one is _very_ Homecoming. A lot will be very similar to the scenes from the movie. Next chapter it will diverge again, but for this one, I felt it was needed to get Peter back on the right track. For those of you who don't like reading a re-hashed scene from a movie, I feel you. For those of you who do, you're in luck!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“You know Ned,” May said after she put their old car in park in front of Liz’s house, “Some hats wear men, but you wear that hat.”

“Yeah, it gives me confidence,” Ned chirped from the back seat adjusting his dark fedora.

Peter stared at Liz’s giant house with a mounting sense of trepidation. What the hell was he doing? He had homework. He had a weapons dealer to find. He had boxing lessons coming up that he had to mentally prepare for, and he _needed_ sleep.

“This is a mistake,” he blurted out suddenly, turning to face May. She stared at him, concerned. “Can we just go home?”

May let out a small tsk. “Oh, Peter,” she said, soothingly. “I know it’s really hard, trying to fit in,” Peter let out a relieved sigh and nodded a little. “Especially with all the changes your body is going through.” Peter’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “It’s flowering now,” she said, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she teased him.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Oh. Ha ha.”

May looked back at Ned. “He’s so stressed out lately.”

“What helps with stress,” said Ned, matter-of-factly, “is going to a party.”

“Okay,” Peter said, unbuckling his belt. “Let’s do it. Let’s go.”

“Peter,” May called after he and Ned climbed out of the car. Peter paused before shutting the door. “Have fun, okay?”

Peter nodded. “I will.”

Ned shouted goodbye to May she drove away. They walked through the people standing and talking in the front yard to Liz’s door. “You wore the suit, right?” Ned murmured. Peter glanced around to see if anyone was paying attention and pulled up his sleeve to reveal the red fabric underneath. “This is going to be so cool!” Ned exclaimed. Peter shook his head as the crossed the threshold. Flash was off to the side, acting as the DJ. “Spider-Man can swing in, give me a fist bump—"

“Ned, I don’t think that this is a good—”

“Oh my gosh!” Peter and Ned looked up to see Liz coming toward them in the hallway. “Hey guys! Hi Peter,” she started twisting her hair a little. “When Michelle came by herself, I thought that—well I’m glad you came!” she grinned at them. “Cool hat, Ned.”

“Hey Liz,” Peter said, a little breathlessly, praying his voice wouldn’t crack.

“There’s plenty of pizza and drinks in the kitchen, so you guys can help yourselves,” she offered, still toying with her hair.

_Say something. Say something, Parker!_

“What a great party.” _Not that. Did that sound sarcastic?_

Liz glanced to the side, smile getting bigger. “Thanks,” she responded. A sense of relief washed over Peter. He could do this. He could hang out with other kids and act normally for one evening, and judging by Liz’s expression, maybe that elusive Coney Island date would not be so far off after all. He was already formulating a plan to ask her out. A crash was heard in the distance and Liz startled, looking behind her.

“My parents will kill me if anyone breaks anything, I better check that out. We’ll talk later?”

Peter nodded, smiling shyly. Liz walked off and Ned’s head swiveled between the two of them.

“Dude! Come on, spider it up. She’ll love it!”

Peter frowned at his friend. “No, no I’m not—Spider-Man isn’t for showing off, Ned. I already said that. I’m just gonna—I don’t know, be myself.”

Ned rolled his eyes. “Come on, Peter. Nobody wants that.”

“Dude,” Peter said, hurt. He started walking toward the kitchen, hoping they would run into MJ soon. Ned was probably right. Peter was just—Peter. There wasn’t anything special about him. It would be easier to get through the awkwardness of this party surrounded by people that actually liked him.

“PENIS PARKER!” Peter heard Flash’s voice boom over the music. “What’s up? How’s your pal Spider-Man?” several people surrounding flash looked at Peter and laughed at the joke. Peter felt an intense desire to punch Flash right in his face. “Got anymore blurry photos for us to see?” Peter frowned and walked away from the living room, Ned in tow. A couple of people shouted at Flash to get on with the music.

_Stupid Flash,_ he thought as he looked between people for any sign of MJ. The guy wouldn’t give Peter a break ever. At least it seemed like less people were laughing at him then usual.

He hated parties.

“Dude—” Ned began, grabbing Peter’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. You’re great, and if Liz can’t see that—I just thought it would be cool. How many people here can say they’ve gotten that close to Spider-Man?”

Peter sighed, still angry at Flash. “I’ll do it.”

“What? Peter, no—”

“I’ll do it, Ned. I’ll swing in, give you a fist bump, and then I’ll tell you to tell me that I liked the pictures.”

“ _You’re_ telling me to tell _you_?” Ned asked, confused.

“I mean, I’ll tell you to tell Peter… no. Spider-Man will tell you to tell me—argh!”

“Spider-Man will tell Ned to tell Peter that Spider-Man liked Peter’s photos,” a voice chimed in. Peter and Ned jumped. MJ had appeared behind them, holding a piece of toast in her hand.

Peter pressed a hand against his chest, willing his heart to calm down. “ _Oy,_ MJ! Don’t do that!” he hissed.

She was wearing a black, long-sleeved shirt and pink formal gown over it. Peter frowned a little as he examined her. He hadn’t seen her ever wear a dress before. MJ raised an eyebrow at him, her typical small smirk playing around her mouth. He smiled back, annoyed with himself by being distracted by a dress of all things. It wasn’t like that would change anything important about one of his best friends. She was still MJ. 

“You guys are such nerds,” she said, not even the littlest bit apologetic for startling him. “Also, you’re not subtle. Peter swinging through here as Spider-Man is a terrible idea,” MJ finished, taking a bite of her toast.

“It’s a great idea,” Ned said, confidently. Peter looked between the two and nodded in agreement with Ned.

“I think it’ll work out,” Peter said.

MJ shrugged. “Alright, suit yourselves,” she said, wandering away and disappearing between partying teens. Ned went to talk to some people from Decathlon as Peter slipped out and climbed up to the roof. He stripped out of his clothes and pulled on his gloves, practicing what he would say when he entered, surveying the group of teenagers inside Liz’s house.

“Ugh, this is so stupid. What am I doing?” he muttered to himself, ready to put his street clothes back on when a bright flash of light in the distance caught his eye. It was massive. And blue.

Peter was stunned. Were they here? Did they operate out here? Surely someone would have noticed some insane weapons fire happening in such a nice neighborhood. This was the kind of place where that sort of thing _never_ happened.

Peter couldn’t deny what he saw, though. After weeks of keeping his ear to the ground, roughing up criminals, and researching government transport and disposal trucks, he finally had something to go after due to the pure chance of being invited to Liz Allan’s party. Peter’s eyes widened.

“No way,” he breathed. “No way!” he jumped off the roof and ran in the direction of the explosion, throwing his mask on. He swung between the trees until he made it to the golf course, then shot a web out into the dark.

It didn’t connect.

“Awww, man!” Peter shouted, sprinting across the grass. He never missed the city skyline more than this moment, but there was no helping it.

He finally saw them again. He couldn’t let this opportunity get away.

Peter ran until he reached the overpass. He heard voices, and he looked down to see some headlights shining brightly over a gravel access road. He slowly crawled down the concrete structure, moving stealthily along the legs of the overpass.

“What else you got, man?” Peter paused. He knew that voice.

“I got just about anything you need,” another person responded. Peter dipped his head down to see three men standing around a white van. The back was open and there were all kinds of high-tech gadgets loaded in it. A man wearing a yellow and black coat and a black ski cap was rummaging around in it. “I got black hole grenades, Chitauri rail guns—”

“Letting off shots in public,” another man grumbled. “Hurry up. Listen man,” the speaker moved into the light, and Peter could make out a bald man in dark clothing speaking to—

Was that _Aaron?_

“Times are changing, and we’re the only ones selling this high-tech stuff.”

“Nah, man, I get it.”

_Holy shit, it_ is _Aaron!_ Peter’s mouth fell open at the sight of one of his mentors. What was Aaron doing? Did the Kingpin have him on this, too?

“I’ve got anti-grav climbers—” the man in the van said.

“Grav climbers?” Aaron sounded startled, and a little indignant. “Anti- _gravity_ climbers?”

“Yeah. They were real hard to come by, but they’re really useful.” Peter’s eyes widened. How the hell could they have gotten their hands on those?

Peter’s phone rang suddenly, loud and startling in the quiet. His eyes widened and he ripped it out of his belt and tried to silence it, cursing Ned’s face filling up the small screen.

“Did you set us up?” the bald man shouted, pulling out a handgun.

“Hey—hey man, cool it. I didn’t—” Aaron was backing up, his hands up.

_Shit._

Peter jumped from his hiding place. _Stupid Parker luck._

“If you want to shoot at somebody, shoot at me!” he shouted, drawing their attention.

Baldy turned to him, gun aimed. “Alright,” he said. He almost pulled the trigger but Peter was ready for him, snapping his gun out of his hands with a well-placed web.

“Get out of here!” Peter shouted at Aaron. His friend did not need telling twice. After one befuddled look at Peter he ran to a car parked nearby. Peter charged towards the van, but Ski Cap turned around and punched him with some kind of electric hand, knocking him hard enough into the cement support behind him to crack it.

That _hurt._

Peter groaned as he heard a car engine roar to life. He lifted his head and his eyes widened as the van started pulling away, Ski Cap leaping into the open back.

“Oh no you don’t,” Peter said, shooting another web. It stuck to the open door and started dragging him behind the van as it sped down the empty suburb roads. Peter couldn’t get stable enough to get on his feet, holding onto only one web. He couldn’t lose them again, not now. He grunted and shot another web, finally able to hold onto the vehicle with two arms. If he could just get his feet under him—

Peter shouted when one of the van doors shot towards him, barely dodging it in time. Peter managed to replace the web he lost, holding on with two hands again, almost certain he was getting road burn on his legs, butt and back. His was almost up when a purple blast knocked into the asphalt in front of him, making him lose his grip again. Something huge and glowing flew past his head as he tried to stabilize. The guy driving was making this as difficult as possible. As he drove, he kept swerving all over the road, knocking Peter into parked cars and trash cans as they went. Peter smashed face first into a brick structure, causing him to lose his remaining web. Peter tried to catch the van again, but wasn’t able to get a good grip, pulling the remaining door off its hinges.

Peter looked at the yard, glad he had to act as May’s GPS to get here. Judging by the direction the van was heading, Peter was pretty sure he would be able to intercept it if he cut through the next couple of yards. He started running, jumping over fences and dodging dogs. He accidentally knocked over a treehouse, wrecked a shed, and crashed a pool party (who threw outdoor pool parties in October? This was Queens, not LA!) before crash-landing in front of a tent the held two little girls. He could hear the mechanics of his mask glitching as the two startled girls stared at him.

“Uh, hey guys,” he said, catching his breath. The girls screamed at the top of their lungs, and Peter scrambled back and out of the yard, hoping he hadn’t scarred them for life.

Peter finally saw the van again as he climbed up onto some roofs. He ran across the houses, just behind, catching up, then passing—he was almost there. If he leapt off right here, he’d get that van. The weapons would be out of Queens, and the Kingpin would finally be off his back—

“AHHHH!” he shouted, twisting as something grabbed his foot in midair. He was being pulled upward, away from the van, and was scrambling to get unstuck from whatever was holding him. When he looked up his heart stuttered with fear. There was some monstrous, mechanical _thing_ looking at him with glowing green eyes. It was going up, gears spinning madly from a set of wings that bracketed either side of it, or him. Peter could clearly see two arms and legs, wrapped in some kind of leather material. The teen kicked madly at the claw that was holding him, when suddenly a new force was pulling him downward. Before he knew it, he was wrapped in some kind of cloth, and he couldn’t tell if he was falling up, down or sideways. The wind was knocked out of him as he made some kind of impact against something hard, and he started choking before he realized he had landed in water. Peter never got a chance to take a breath before he went under, and he twisted and struggled to escape the cloth wrapping to no avail.

_Oh God,_ he thought, struggling not to open his mouth to breathe water instead of air in his panic. _Oh God, I’m gonna die. I'm gonna die here—_

The cloth was gone and he was moving, propelling in some unknown direction until he felt the pressure against his ears lessen as he burst from the water. He gasped and choked, wriggling weakly against the metal hands that were holding him.

Metal hands?

Peter tensed in the grip, still struggling to breathe. He knew he was above water now, but couldn’t seem to draw a breath. Before Peter knew it, he was sat down at a playground.

“I gotta say, kid, you outdid yourself here,” a mechanical voice from far away sounded. Peter clutched his throat, a panicky tightness filling his chest. He couldn’t breathe. He was choking. The doctor needed to get that stupid tube out of his throat—it hurt— _May it hurts, please make it stop—_

“Kid? Kid are you alright?”

Peter didn’t know why but he shook his head, gripping it with both hands and failing to breathe. He was going to die. He was going to be left on the street, bleeding to death with the trash. But why was he wet? Maybe the Kingpin was going to throw his body in the river when he was done—

“PETER!” Peter jumped and looked around. Somehow, he was curled up on the ground with bars surrounding him. He looked up at the Iron Man suit that stood just outside his enclosure.

“Breathe, kiddo,” he said, soothingly.

“I c-c-c-can’t,” Peter stuttered, trembling. He needed help. He was spiraling and couldn’t climb out. He needed Mr. Wesley. He would know what to do. Mr. Wesley was the one who handled this sort of thing. He was the one who was there to tell him everything would be okay. He needed Mr. Wesley to put Peter’s hand on his chest to show him how he was supposed to breathe. He couldn’t do it on his own.

“Yes you can,” Iron Man said, firmly.

_Can what?_

“You can breathe on your own,” Iron Man replied. “In and out, okay?” Slowly, Peter followed his instructions, managing some shallow breaths. “Good. Now focus for me. Tell me something you can see.”

Peter followed Mr. Stark’s instructions, describing things he could see, hear and touch until he finally regained control of his breathing.

“You alright?” Peter shook all over as he stood up and climbed to the top of the jungle gym he had hidden under. “Get panic attacks often?”

Peter shrugged. “Sometimes.” He sat down on the top bars.

Iron Man hovered so he wasn’t looking up at Peter. “Want to elaborate?”

“Not really,” Peter answered plainly.

“Alright, Underoos. How about you explain what happened,” Mr. Stark said, voice echoing in his suit. Peter trembled with cold, looking around to gauge his surroundings again. When he determined they were alone, he pulled his mask off and wrung it out, unsure of what to say.

“Maybe you can start with why I found you in a lake?”

Peter frowned, staring at his mask. “Well, a few weeks ago, there were these guys in my neighborhood who were robbing a bunch of ATMs. I went to stop them, but they started shooting these crazy weapons at me. One of them made me float in the air. It was weird. It freaked me out, to be honest, but I’ve been keeping a look out for them ever since. Tonight was the first time I saw them since, so I had to go after them.”

“Why?” Mr. Stark asked, bluntly.

“Why what?” Peter asked, confused.

“Why did _you_ have to go after them?” It was hard talking to Mr. Stark in the Iron Man suit. He didn’t like not being able to see his expression.

Peter wondered if this was how most people felt when they were talking to him.

He thought carefully about how to answer. He wouldn’t mention the Kingpin. He couldn’t. Peter had decided after all was said and done, even if Mr. Stark had his best interests at heart, Peter would still suffer the consequences of his interference. He learned that lesson easily enough during the benefit the other night.

He couldn’t lie, though, not now. He just didn’t have it in him to make up some elaborate ruse, and he wasn’t in the right headspace to try to manipulate the situation with half-truths. He was cold, and he was so tired. He frowned, wishing—not for the first time—that those stupid weapons never made it to Forest Hills—

_Oh._

“Mr. Stark, it’s _my_ neighborhood. I can’t have weapons like that in my neighborhood. They’re dangerous.”

Mr. Stark looked around and held out his hands. “This doesn’t look like your neighborhood.”

Peter shivered harder in the cool night air. “It’s pretty close, and I was at a party. I just happened to see the weapons go off.”

“ _You_ were at a party?”

Peter shrugged. “Yeah. You know. I’m a teenager. We go to parties,” he said, defensively.

“So how did you end up in the lake?”

Peter proceeded to explain the suburb-van-chase _nightmare_ he just experienced. 

“Then he dropped me like, over a thousand feet. And I was tangled up in some kind of blanket that he must have thrown on me—”

“No, that uh, that was a parachute,” Mr. Stark interrupted. “It’s supposed to deploy after sudden drops over one thousand feet, but you shouldn’t have been tangled up in it.”

“Oh. Well, I was being carried by my foot, and then got pulled out of the wing-guy’s hands or whatever… maybe I was facing the wrong way for it to work.”

Mr. Stark hummed.

“Hey, not that I’m not grateful or anything,” Peter said, teeth chattering, “but how did you find me?”

“There’s a tracker in your suit,” Mr. Stark said bluntly.

“You put a tracker in my suit?” Peter wasn’t sure why he was asking. He had suspected as much since Mr. Fisk suggested it, but it was good to have confirmation.

“I put everything in your suit,” said Mr. Stark, “including this heater.” A wave of warmth emanated from all parts of Peter’s suit, drying him and warming him instantaneously. He let out a relieved sigh.

“Wow, that’s so much better. Thanks!” He didn’t notice how cold he was until that heater kicked on.

“What were you thinking?” Mr. Stark asked, sternly. Peter was very close to rolling his eyes.

“Mr. Stark, it’s _my_ neighborhood. I need to protect it,” and if protecting it matched up with the side job the Kingpin set for him, so be it. “The wing guy is obviously the source of the weapons, so I gotta take him down!”

“Take him down, now huh? Steady, Crockett. There are people that handle this sort of thing.”

“Like the Avengers?” Peter scoffed.

“Hey—I didn’t like that tone,” Mr. Stark replied, lowly.

“Mr. Stark, I’ve already told you, I know that you guys have a lot of bigger issues to deal with, but someone has to look out for—”

“The little guy,” Mr. Stark sighed. “Kid, this guy is above your paygrade.”

“But—”

“And I don’t like the idea of you going after him alone! You need to let my people handle this.”

Peter frowned, folding his arms over his chest. “So will the Avengers go after this guy?”

“Well—no. This is a little below _their_ paygrade.”

Peter sighed. “Look, Mr. Stark, I was just trying to do the right thing. I’m sorry,” Peter said, softly, genuinely regretful. He didn’t want to worry him, after all. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here.” Maybe if he just agreed with Mr. Stark, he would be left to his own devices again.

“Oh,” Mr. Stark said, sounding a little taken aback by Peter’s change in attitude. Peter tried not to wince. He wasn’t being as subtle as he liked. “I’m not here,” he said, popping open the Iron Man mask to reveal an empty suit. Peter was not expecting a remotely operating suit with Tony Stark’s voice coming out of it. He felt a brief spike of surprise followed by a heavy wave of disappointment.

Mr. Stark was a busy guy, and he had no reason to come after Peter when he could send a suit remotely. Peter could kick himself for thinking otherwise.

“You’re lucky the place I’m in has wi-fi or you would have been done.”

Peter nodded. He wouldn’t have gotten out of that lake. If he were carried any higher, he wouldn’t have survived the fall. He had enough experience toeing the line between living and dying to know how lucky he was.

“Yeah, I know. Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

The empty suit hovered. Mr. Stark’s voice was hesitant. “Look, can you leave this wing guy alone?”

Peter looked up at the suit, frowning. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

“Okay,” Mr. Stark said. He sounded relieved. “Okay, great. Good talk, Underoos. Next time, leave off the sir, that was a bit much, but—good. I’m gonna sign off now. Lab time next weekend?”

Peter shrugged. “I’m not sure. Let me look at my schedule.”

“Alright. We’ll play it by ear. End call.” Peter heard a distinct click before the Iron Man suit flew off. He sighed, pulled his mask back on, and made his way back towards Liz’s house. When he was almost back, he saw a strange, glowing piece of debris. His spider sense tingled as he picked up the cylindrical piece of metal. A weird purple stone was wired into the device. His phone rang and this time he answered.

“Hey man,” Peter greeted after Ned picked up.

“Where’d you go?” Ned asked.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said, regretfully, continuing back to Liz’s house. “There were these guys selling these weapons, and Aaron was there—”

“Miles’ uncle?” Ned sounded surprised.

“I know, right?” Peter was pretty sure Aaron had also been put on the weapons case by Mr. Fisk. “It was insane. I had to chase them through all these houses—”

“Did you get any pictures?” Ned asked, clearly thinking about the blog.

“No, Ned—when would I have had time to set up the camera?” Peter shook his head, examining the weird device again. “Look, I’m on my way back—”

“Don’t worry about it, Peter. It might be better if you don’t come by,” Ned said. Peter frowned. “Listen.” Peter could clearly hear “Penis Parker” being chanted by a large group of people. He groaned. He thought between Mr. Fisk’s internship and those pictures he showed on Friday that he might finally be immune to groups of people calling him names. He was so disappointed to be wrong.

He was upset that Mr. Stark not actually showing up for him was _more_ disappointing. He swallowed against the bitter feeling that was threatening to overwhelm him. He had to remind himself that he wasn’t special to Mr. Stark, not really. Mr. Stark liked him because he was a smart kid who also had powers. He didn’t have any further interest in him, and a bit of stargazing and some personal lab time wouldn’t change that.

“How will you get home?” Peter asked after he collected himself.

“MJ’s Dad will give me a ride.” Ned replied. Peter nodded to himself. He would just call May and tell her he found another way home.

“Alright man. See you later.”

“Bye, Peter.”

He placed his phone back in his utility belt, returning his attention to the weird device he had found. He yawned, feeling exhaustion in every part of his body. He wished he had just gone home and went to bed. Then again, at least now things were starting to look up. He poked at the wiring encasing the glowing purple rock. He pulled off his mask and grabbed his phone again, selecting an option from his speed dial.

After three rings, he got an answer.

“Mr. Wesley? I think I have a lead for that side project Mr. Fisk has me on. Any chance you’re available to talk about it?”

“Of course, Mr. Parker,” Mr. Wesley said smoothly. “Are you available tonight?”

Peter thought of his bed longingly. It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Writing Notes:  
> 1\. So the first time I saw some of my lady friends in dresses, I was really surprised by it. And several of them were surprised by me the first time they saw me in a dress. We weren't the girliest bunch, and at that time, wearing a dress was _girly_. This scene is Peter expanding the box he has for MJ. It’s not so much an “Oh yeah, she’s a girl” thing. It’s more like “I didn’t know you wore dresses. That’s a new look for you and I’m trying to process it because it’s very different from what I know.” I think if Peter and Ned never or rarely saw MJ in dresses after they became friends, it would be distracting for half a sec. 
> 
> 2\. Who has an outdoor pool party in October? I’m sorry, that scene (while hilarious) bothers me. Like, even good weather in New York in October is not pool weather. When I saw the kids camping outside in their yard, I thought it might be a stretch, but it’s doable. The pool party? That was a bit too far. Maybe it’s a crazy nice heated pool and patio, or something….
> 
> 3\. That parachute freaked me out. And it didn’t work. And it nearly killed him. I was like, “Tony, Tony why didn’t you TELL him about this auto-deploying parachute? HE JUMPS OF SKYSCRAPERS FOR KICKS!!!”
> 
> 4\. If anyone wants an explanation as to why Peter thinks of Wesley when he’s panicking, so far, the only time Peter has had a full-fledged panic attack has been around Wesley, and Wesley has a specific way to help Peter get under control. It’s what Peter is used to, so even though he knows Wesley is a bad guy, his brain still thinks that he’s safe for this sort of thing. 
> 
> 5\. Awww, Peter. When that mask opens and no one is inside… my little heart. 
> 
> Hope you guys liked it. I know it was very similar to the Homecoming sequence, and I hope that wasn't too annoying. 
> 
> Leave a comment and let me know what you thought! Or come and holler at me [@hanuko](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ned sighed and hit two keys on his laptop. An electric surge went through the suit. “Whoa,” Peter said. He grabbed his mask. “I wonder what this unlocked.” Ned watched as he pulled on his mask._
> 
> _“Good evening, Peter,” a feminine voice said in his ear. Peter fell off the bed, startled, looking around wildly._
> 
> _“What’s wrong?” Ned asked, putting his laptop to the side._
> 
> _“H-hello?” Peter said, still looking around._
> 
> _“Who are you talking to?” Ned asked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for those of you who peek at my tumblr for updates, you may have noticed no midweek teaser. This is because this chapter GOT AWAY! It did. It got away so hard. It turned into two chapters, the second of which is still not done. It was almost 10,000 words before I said to myself, "Self, you need to _stop._ " At any rate, this is part one of the end result of all that labor. Hope you like it!

“You know, kids need about eight to ten hours of sleep,” Daredevil smirked after Peter let out his fourth yawn of the night.

“Shut up,” Peter replied, taking his stance.

It had been a weird weekend.

Mr. Wesley had sent a car to collect Peter at Liz’s house. By the time Peter had snuck back over and slipped his clothes on, a black SUV was parked in front of the house, engine running. Peter had managed to avoid everyone as he moved to the car that was clearly for him. He discovered Mr. Wesley was inside, and he had Mr. Fisk on speakerphone.

During a car ride that should have taken 15 minutes (but actually took close to an hour) Peter explained in detail what happened, including the fact that Iron Man save his life.

_“You were right, Mr. Fisk,” Peter said, wringing his hands together. “He’s definitely got an eye on me.”_

_Peter heard Mr. Fisk let out a heavy sigh. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. Stark has never been the most trusting of people. I can’t blame him, all things considered.”_

_“What we need to do now,” Mr. Wesley interjected, “is come up with a plan. Now you’ve had a visual. Where can we go from here, Mr. Parker?”_

By the time Peter got back to his apartment, he was too wired to sleep properly. The next day, he patrolled around Queens, trying to wear himself out, but when he got home, he _still_ couldn’t calm down enough to sleep. He passed out on Saturday the same way he did Friday—by lying awake in bed, anxiously going over what he had done and what he could do to catch those guys, all the while worrying about the creepy guy in the wingsuit and what Mr. Stark would do if he found out Peter was going after him despite what the billionaire asked.

Peter shuddered when he thought of the guy with the wings. He had _never_ fallen like that before. Every time he went through the city, he had always been able to catch himself. Ever since the beginning, that little sense inside told him exactly when he could release his web and when to throw out a new one. Peter was very nervous when he patrolled the next day, and he had to force himself to move like normal. The whole time, the teen had to remind himself that he was never so high that he was in serious danger, and that he could always catch himself. His spider sense hadn’t failed him for swinging yet.

Sunday was a haze of homework, planning for the trip to Washington, and terrible reality TV. It ended on the couch next to May with a B flick playing while they ate popcorn and caught up. He told her he was never going to a party again. She patted his shoulder and told him they would be better in college. May was fun like that, sometimes.

Needless to say, by the time he got to his lesson with Daredevil, he was exhausted. He hoped after this he would get enough rest to stay sharp enough for nationals. He trusted his team, but they all told him they _needed_ him for the physics portion or they would be dead. Peter didn’t really believe it though. He had seen MJ’s score on their last exam. She was an unexpected heavy hitter there. He shook himself and focused on what he was learning now.

Daredevil was a really good teacher. Peter learned more in a couple hours about fighting than he ever had before. The older vigilante explained what happened when a hit made impact, how much pressure was needed to cause different types of damage, and why there were different types of effects due to the type of hit. Peter never knew there was so much to fighting. Daredevil told him that in order for him to determine the amount of strength he needed to incapacitate, he needed to understand these fundamentals. The gym they met in was old, but still in use. A boxing ring stood to the side, currently unoccupied. Peter was wearing sweats and his mask, and he had taped his hands at Daredevil’s insistence. Daredevil was also wearing loose workout clothes (all black, as usual) and was sporting his own half mask. Peter adjusted his stance and held up his hands, ready for his next instruction.

“Good. You feel your center of gravity? As long as you keep that in mind, you won’t be knocked over. A firm stance will keep you on your feet,” Daredevil advised, circling Peter. “Now, I have a heavy bag hanging for you here. We want to see how hard you can hit. Your power comes from your core, so make sure your abdominals are strong—good. Now you’re just gonna throw your fist like I showed you, and make contact with the bag.” Peter followed Daredevil’s instructions, but he only hit the bag lightly. It was still enough to make the bag swing. Peter saw Daredevil fold his arms over his chest out of the corner of his eye.

“Was that as hard as you can hit?” Daredevil asked frankly. Peter shook his head. “Alright,” he continued, patiently. “Try again. Give it more power.” Peter straightened his stance and punched again. This time the bag swung a little more wildly, and Peter put out his hands to still it.

“Come on, kid,” Daredevil said, suddenly stern. “Don’t shy away from it, just give it all you got!” Peter huffed and punched the bag again, really throwing himself into the punch.

The bag split down the seam, and sand poured beneath it at a rapid rate.

“Oh!” Peter exclaimed, jumping back. “Oh, man Mr. Daredevil I’m sorry—”

Peter looked to the side. Daredevil stood there, his mouth slightly open as he stared blankly at the bag in front of them. He closed his mouth and swallowed before looking back over at Peter.

“Ah,” he said. “Um. I think I may have underestimated—how strong I thought—wait. Did you call me ‘Mr. Daredevil?’”

Peter stammered and pulled the bag off the hook, rotating it so it wasn’t leaking sand as much all over the place. Daredevil guided him back to the equipment room and laid down a tarp, then asked Peter to drop the bag there.

“We need to try something else here. You calling me Daredevil, or Mr. Daredevil… well, it’s—“

“It’s a little extra?” Peter offered.

“Jesus Christ, how old _are_ you?” Daredevil asked, aghast. Peter winced. “No, I don’t want to know the answer to that question. How about you call me Mike for now, okay?”

Peter shrugged. “Sounds good,” he said.

“Anything you want me to call you, Spider-Man?”

Peter shuffled a bit. “Nah, that’s fine. You can call me Spidey, if you’d rather.”

Mike smiled. “Sure. Spidey works.”

They set up a new bag and Mike told Peter to keep his force around the strength of his second punch. They continued with the punching bag for the rest of the lesson, Mike correcting Peter’s form and Peter adjusting when told. By the end of it Peter felt very accomplished.

“When do you want to meet up next?” Mike asked as he locked up the gym. “Later this week?”

“No, not this week,” Peter said, now suited up completely, messenger bag slung over his shoulder. “I have na—I mean, I’m out of town tomorrow and won’t be back until Thursday.” Peter frowned, remembering his plans with Mr. Stark that he finalized on Sunday. “And this weekend I have a thing upstate, so the rest of the week is shot.”

Mike shrugged. “Alright, Spidey. Next week then. How about the same time? You’re usually here on Mondays, aren’t you?”

Peter nodded. That was often an internship day for him. “Sure, Mike. That sounds good to me.” He pulled his phone from his belt and smacked his forehead when he saw the time. “Shit,” he muttered, replacing the phone, thinking of all the things he had to do before they left town tomorrow. “I have to get home. Thanks for the lesson!” he said, climbing up the wall and preparing to swing away.

"Wait!" Mike called after him. Peter paused and turned his head back, waiting for the older vigilante to continue. 

"I want you to have my phone number," he said. Peter frowned and pulled his phone out again, unlocking it and going to his contacts.

"Uh... okay. I'm not comfortable giving you mine though." 

"That's fine," Mike agreed. "If there's an emergency, I want you to call me, alright?" he rattled off a series of numbers that Peter added to his phone. "Don't rely on your phone, either. You never know when you might lose it. Memorize that number, and any other numbers that can help bail you out."

"Okay," Peter said, hesitating. "Um, thank you?"

"No need to thank me, Spidey. I just hope you'll never need it."

"No kidding," Peter mumbled, putting his phone back. 

“See you Monday, kid,” Mike called from the ground. Peter smiled beneath his mask.

“See you Monday!” he replied before launching himself into the air. He swung his way towards the freeway exit going to Queens, and jumped on the back of a semi. He laid back on the container, staring at the rapidly moving sky above him as he mentally went over a list of things he still had to do before tomorrow. He wasn’t even sure if he got his laundry done yet. Peter groaned. So much for getting enough sleep tonight.

When he finally made it to Forest Hills and swung to his apartment it was after eight o’clock. He hid behind a dumpster in the alley beside his apartment complex to change his clothes, then went inside.

May was sitting on the couch, sipping something from a mug when he walked in. The news was playing a story about some massive explosion that happened just off the coast.

_“Officials still aren’t sure what the cause of the explosion was, but the boat in question—the SS Alexa—has been completely destroyed. Out of the twenty-five member crew only six have been found, two of whom are critically injured,”_ the reporter said. She was standing in front of some busy docks, breath coming out in foggy wisps due to the chill in the air. _“The rest are currently deemed missing, and rescue teams are working as fast as possible to find them.”_

“Peter,” May said, muting the television and setting down her mug. “I thought you were going to have an early day today,” she said as she rose to greet him. He threw his keys in the bowl next to the door, letting out a heavy sigh.

“Yeah, May, me too.” He hugged his aunt and moved past her, back to his bedroom. “Man, I still have to pack—”

“ _Bambino_ ,” May said, catching his arm. “Sit down.” She pulled his bag from his shoulder and guided him to the kitchen, sitting him down at the table. “Did you eat yet?” Peter’s stomach chose that moment to growl loudly.

May let out a little tsk as she pulled a plate from the fridge, unwrapped it, and put it in the microwave. “It’s leftover meatloaf from yesterday, hon. Hope that’s alright.”

“It’s fine, May,” Peter said, glancing back at his room. “But I have a ton of stuff to do before tomorrow. Can I just start it while that’s heating up—”

“No,” May said firmly, standing by the microwave. Peter sighed and looked down at the table, scratching against the wood with his fingernail. “If you get up now to do whatever you have to do to get ready, then I’ll never be able to get you to sit back down to eat.”

“But May! I have so much to do! I haven’t come close to packing. I still haven’t even started my laundry! And I have homework that’s due tomorrow before we leave—”

“I did your laundry,” May said as the microwave chirped. “I packed for you, too, when you didn’t get home an hour ago.” She sniffed, pulling the plate out and setting it in front of Peter with some cutlery. Peter stared at her, a sense of relief spreading over him. If he only had to worry about homework, he had a shot at getting a good night’s rest, after all.

“Thanks May,” he said. He started digging into his meatloaf and potatoes, acutely aware of how much of an appetite he worked up. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You’re my kid, Peter. I will always help you when you need it,” May said with a smile as she sat down next to him. “But listen, if you’re going to be late, you have to call me, okay? I was getting worried.”

“Sorry,” Peter said sheepishly. “I just lost track of time.”

May stood and patted his shoulder. “I know sweetie. Next time, okay? Remember for next time.” Peter nodded. May stopped and kissed the top of his head before moving back into the living room. Peter finished his dinner, then went to his room and pulled his schoolwork out of his bag. Thankfully, it was just chemistry, which was easily his best subject. He would be done in no time and be able to go straight to bed.

After he finished his work, he reached down to grab his backpack to put everything away. He glanced at his messenger bag that sat at the foot of his desk. Frowning, he bent over and scooped it up, examining the contents.

Peter stared at his neatly folded suit, frowning at it. He shouldn’t need it in Washington. They wouldn’t be going anywhere that Spider-Man would normally show up, anyway.

He _had_ been working on Ned last week though, and he was pretty sure once he got him alone, he could convince him to hack into it, especially now that he knew Mr. Stark was tracking him. Nodding to himself, Peter dropped his bag as he stood up, moving to his suitcase to add the suit to it. When he turned back, he saw the purple crystal he had worked on at Fisk Tower had rolled out and sat innocuously beside his bag, still glowing. He walked over to it and picked it up, humming in thought. Maybe Ned would want to get a look at this, too. It was pretty cool, even if they couldn’t figure out how it worked or what it did. When Dr. Octavius got a chance to look in on what he was doing, she hemmed and hawed, muttering excitedly before she announced that she thought it was a power source.

Peter heard the day Mr. Wesley brought that hunk of debris he found into the tower, two guys had showed up, disturbing the staff and looking for something. When Peter reviewed the lobby security footage, he saw it was Baldy and Ski-cap. They seemed to be going through a lot of trouble just to find a super-powered battery. Peter frowned as he packed the crystal on top of his suit.

One thing was for sure; even if Peter couldn’t find the guy with the wings, the Kingpin would have a lead by the end of the week. He was already running those guys through every database he knew. Between that and Mr. Fisk’s contacts, he’d find them with or without Spider-Man’s help. Finding the head guy would only be a matter of time after that.

The next morning came entirely too early for Peter, who had been haunted by dreams of Baldy and Ski-cap being knocked around by Mr. Fisk while he stood by silently on the sidelines. As a result, he overslept, and nearly missed his bus. He met up with his Chemistry teacher as soon as he got into school and handed the man his homework before meeting up with the team in the office. Mr. Harrington signed them all out and guided them toward the yellow bus that would be hauling them to Washington.

About a half an hour into the trip, Liz started quizzing them. She began by having them all answer questions that played to their strengths; Peter in Physics, MJ in literature, Ned in computer science and economics, Abe in history and Cindy in math. Then after about thirty minutes of this, she shuffled them around so each of them had to answer questions in one of their weaker areas. “I’m not having us lose because someone suddenly got stage fright and no one else was prepared,” she said firmly in the face of complaints from her team. She had a good point. She let them take a fifteen-minute break after a grueling forty-five minutes (Peter didn’t know how much he didn’t know about Henry Thoreau until he was quizzed about the man’s writings at length), but had them right back at their normal subjects as soon as it was over. She was not the kindest of task masters, but Peter was pretty sure since she was a senior this year, winning was a very important goal. It would be a pretty impressive achievement on her college applications.

He answered a question about elements as his phone rang. He apologized to Liz and moved to the back of the bus and frowned when he saw the ID that lit up his screen.

“Hello?” he asked, hesitantly.

“Did you leave the city?” Happy Hogan was not the gentlest of people. He spoke in no-nonsense terms and his manner was gruff, at the very least.

“What?” Peter asked, a little startled.

“I got a blip. Did you leave the city? I’m watching a dot move south on a satellite map right now. What’s going on?”

“You got a blip?” Peter asked, dumbly.

“Yeah. From your suit.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Good God, how many blips and pings does this stupid thing have?” he hissed, glancing over his shoulder.

“Many,” Happy replied, bluntly.

“Okay, I just want to say this is a gross invasion of my privacy,” Peter said, sitting in an unoccupied seat.

“Noted.”

Peter sighed. “I’m on my way to Washington. It’s for a school trip. Seriously, Happy, it’s no big deal.”

“Hey,” Happy said shortly, “I decide if it’s no big deal, _capisce_?” Peter sighed and glanced out the window, seeing a sign for their next stop coming up.

“Well, you better decide quickly, seeing as we’re about halfway to Maryland,” Peter sniped, irritated.

“Hey, dial back on the attitude, Parker,” Happy grunted. Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and waited in silence.

“Alright, it’s no big deal,” Happy said after about thirty seconds of them listening to each other breathe. “Next time, you tell me when you plan on leaving town.”

“Yes sir,” Peter mumbled, rolling his eyes. He hung up the phone and moved back up to his seat, apologizing and making an excuse about May calling him. 

When they arrived in Washington, they had to complete a lot of tasks within a limited amount of time. Mr. Harrington checked them all into their hotel rooms, handing them their key cards. Their teacher checked his watch and had them all go and drop off their luggage before they were expected back on the bus.

“You’ve got fifteen minutes, people! Busy day!” he shouted as they started heading to their rooms. Ned and Peter were behind Flash, Abe, and Charles, listening to Flash talk on and on about how this hotel was a joke compared to some of the other places he had been. Charles looked over his shoulder and lowered his eyebrows behind the thick lenses he wore, clearly irritated with his rooming arrangements. Peter shrugged and Ned snickered, and Charles shook his head in response and went with Flash and Abe to their appointed room.

Ned unlocked his and Peter’s room and they stepped inside, each throwing their bags on a bed. Peter cleared his throat.

“So, I brought my suit,” he said, pulling his toiletries out of the bag and putting them in the small bathroom.

“Whoa, really?” Ned asked, excitement dancing in his eyes. “Wait,” Ned’s expression became suspicious. “Why?”

Peter shrugged. “No reason. Just thought you might want to check it out. See how it works, you know—”

“Peter.”

Peter groaned. “Come on, Ned! You’re the best hacker I know. Please help me get into this suit?” Ned bit his lip and headed to the door, gesturing for Peter to follow him. The door clicked shut behind them, and Peter looked around, relieved none of their teammates were nearby. “Listen, I just found out that Iron Man is tracking me all the time,” he hissed. Ned raised his eyebrow as they moved toward the group. “I’m serious! I just got a call from his head of security because I left the state! And he was upset about it!”

Ned stared at Peter with wide eyes. “Whoa, really?” they reached their group and Peter clammed up, merely offering a nod in response to Ned’s question. Everyone loaded and headed to the convention center.

Thankfully, none of them were competing today. The first day was for the smaller schools. Midtown would be competing tomorrow. They signed in and watched the other schools compete, getting a feel for the layout of the events. Peter could see Liz strategizing out of the corner of his eye. He had a feeling they would all have to do a super quiz around dinner time.

As soon as they were let out, Cindy and Abe joined MJ to protest in front of one of the embassies. Peter wasn’t sure which one, but based on what Cindy had said, it sounded like one of the nations that signed the Accords. They promised to meet everyone at dinner, and since everyone else was going back to the hotel, Mr. Harrington stayed with their little group.

After they got back to their room, Ned pulled out his laptop and some cables. “Get out your suit,” he said.

“Seriously?” Peter asked, excited. Ned nodded, apparently resigned. Peter opened his suitcase and pulled the weird crystal off the top of his suit, setting it on his bed.

“What’s that?” Ned asked, curiously as Peter handed him the suit.

Peter shrugged. “I’m not sure. It’s part of one of those weapons those guys were using to try to blow me up.”

“Cool,” Ned said, hooking the cable to a port inside Peter’s suit. “Not that they were trying to blow you up,” he amended, pulling up the schematics for Peter’s suit. “Okay, we should let this run a while. After I run all the diagnostics, I’ll be able to get into it and find a safe way to remove this tracker. I’m not comfortable with this, by the way,” he added, firmly. Peter nodded.

“I know.”

“Because Iron Man knowing where you are can and _has_ saved your life.”

Peter sighed. “I _know_ , Ned. But they’re calling me if I leave the city. Happy actually said he gets to decide if that’s okay or not.”

Ned frowned. “Yeah, and that’s weird, which is why I’m doing this for you. Come on, it’s time to meet up for dinner.”

Peter was right. After they ordered dinner, Liz passed around an example of a super quiz and had them all complete as much as possible before their food arrived. MJ, Abe and Cindy all looked excited and were talking about what they saw at the embassy and the other protesters. Mr. Harrington slightly harassed.

When they got back to their room, Ned checked his laptop. “Alright,” he said, grinning. “I’m in. Here, let me just disable the tracker… go grab your tools.”

Peter managed to pry the tracker out of place with the use of a screwdriver and a pair of tweezers. A sense of relief washed over him as he set the tracker on the bedside table.

“Did you know about all these subsystems in here?” Ned asked, typing away at his laptop. Peter looked up from his suit.

“Huh?”

“Yeah, but they’re all disabled by the—” Ned snickered, “—Training Wheels Protocol.”

“What?” Peter asked, jumping up next to Ned to see the schematics. He frowned as he looked at the list of systems he should have access to. “Can you turn it off?”

“Peter,” Ned said, shaking his head. “We’ve already removed the tracker. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Come on, Ned, please?” Peter asked, giving Ned his most pathetic wide-eyed look he could.

Ned frowned. “Peter—”

“Guy in the chair,” Peter pressed, smiling a little.

Ned shifted. “Don’t do that.”

“Come on. Please?”

Ned sighed and hit two keys on his laptop. An electric surge went through the suit. “Whoa,” Peter said. He grabbed his mask. “I wonder what this unlocked.” Ned watched as he pulled on his mask.

“Good evening, Peter,” a feminine voice said in his ear. Peter fell off the bed, startled, looking around wildly.

“What’s wrong?” Ned asked, putting his laptop to the side.

“H-hello?” Peter said, still looking around.

“Who are you talking to?” Ned asked. Peter gestured for quiet.

“Congratulations on completing the rigorous training wheels protocol and gaining access to your suits full capabilities,” the voice continued.

“Uh—thank you?” he responded. He looked over at Ned who was peering down at him nervously.

“So, where would you like to take me tonight?”

“No—no where. I just, uh, I was just seeing what you’re all about, is all.”

“Peter?” Ned asked, growing more and more alarmed.

“Dude,” Peter hissed. “My suit is talking to me! There’s some kind of suit-lady in here.”

“What?” Ned exclaimed.

“You _did_ complete the training wheels protocol, right?” she asked. Somehow, her computerized voice was laced with suspicion.

“Oh, uh—yeah. Yes. Absolutely. I just—uh—just want to hear you give me a rundown. Mr. Stark didn’t say anything about a talking suit.”

“I see,” Suit-lady continued. “Your suit has a variety of functions available, including but not limited to reconnaissance mode, interrogation mode, gliders and a variety of web-shooter combinations.”

“Gliders?” Peter asked.

“If you put on the rest of the suit, I can show you.” A knock on the door startled them. Peter ripped his mask off and shoved it under Ned’s pillow, staring at the door. Ned shrugged as Peter went to answer it.

Liz stood before him in a black and white swimsuit with a towel over her shoulder.

“Hey,” she said, giving him a little smile. She looked around and waved her hand as he stepped out of the room. “We’re gonna go swimming,” she whispered. The rest of the team ran by him, Flash bringing up the rear. As he passed he smacked Peter’s butt, startling the teen.

“What the—” he said, rubbing his butt. That stung. “We don’t play football, Flash! What the hell!” he hissed. Flash must of have heard him because he just waved him off as they turned the corner for the pool.

Liz giggled, twirling her hair. “Are you and Ned joining us?”

Peter glanced back at his room. “I—uh, I was gonna just study tonight.”

Liz rolled her eyes. “Peter, you don’t need to study. You’re like, the smartest guy I’ve ever met.”

Peter felt his face get hot and hoped he wasn’t blushing. “Really?”

“Besides; a rebellious group activity the day before competition is good for morale,” she said, smirking. Peter raised his eyebrow. Liz shuffled a bit and looked at the floor nervously. “I read that in a TED talk—I mean, I heard it in a TED talk,” she corrected, giggling, “and I read a coaching book.”

Peter stared at her, a little stunned. “Wow, Liz, this is really important to you.”

Liz narrowed her eyebrows. “Well, yeah,” she scoffed. “It’s our future. I’m not gonna screw it up. Besides, we raided the minibar and these candy bars were like, eleven dollars. Get your trunks on and join us!” she said, tossing him a Reese’s before she made her way to the pool. Peter stared after her, mouth hanging open a bit before he ducked back inside his room.

“What’s going on?” Ned asked. His laptop was put away and the mask was now in his hands.

“Liz invited us to go swimming,” he said, still a little surprised.

“Whoa, really?” Ned asked, excited. “Let’s go! Did you pack your trunks?”

“May packed for me. I had a lot going on Monday.”

“Well check!”

“I don’t know, man,” Peter said, nervously. He did not do well with any kind of social event.

“This is nothing like a party. It’s just the team, and they won’t let Flash give you any crap.”

“He slapped my butt as he ran by,” Peter said, moving to his suitcase again and digging through it.

Ned rolled his eyes. “He’s hanging out with Kong too much.” Peter found his trunks and the two of them changed before going down to the pool themselves.

“Hey guys!” Liz said from where she sat on the pools edge as Abe and Flash splashed each other in the pool. Peter had worn a shirt down to the pool, but Ned had not, and his friend jumped into the deep end, spraying MJ and Cindy.

“Hey Peter,” Charles said, popping up. Peter wondered if he could see much of anything without his glasses. He knew when he wore them he was hopeless without them. “You coming in?”

Peter shrugged and tugged off his shirt. Cindy gasped. It was quiet, but Peter’s enhanced hearing picked it up. He looked over at her to find her staring at him. He looked down at himself, wondering what she could be looking at.

“You weren’t lying,” Cindy whispered to MJ. “What you said in History that day?” MJ rolled her eyes and said nothing. Peter looked around to see Liz and Cindy were both gaping at him and folded his arms over his chest self-consciously.

“Quit staring,” MJ hissed at them. “You don’t like it when boys do it to us, why should they like it when you do it to them?” The two girls looked properly abashed and MJ slid into the pool and swam over to him. She pulled herself out and sat on the edge next to him. Peter smiled.

“Thanks,” he whispered, lowering his arms.

“For what?” MJ asked, clearly confused.

Peter gestured his head to the girls. “For saying what you did.”

MJ blinked, startled. “You heard—oh. Well. You’re welcome.”

Peter smiled at her, grateful that Ned and MJ were here with him. He wasn’t worried about the events tomorrow. He had a feeling they were going to crush it. 

“So,” he asked, sliding into the water. “Whose idea was it to raid the minibar?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Writing Notes:  
> 1\. So, this was hard for me. Peter and Ned call Washington DC Washington, which is very common in many parts of the United States. Me, I live in Washington State, so we all call it DC or Washington DC. It’s so annoying when you’re from this state and you tell people you’re from this state, and they immediately assume the capital, especially considering most people who live in Washington DC usually call it “the District.” So writing Washington for the past however many chapters, and for this one and the next one, was _cringeworthy_ for me. 
> 
> 2\. Of course Peter never wants to go to a party again. A whole room of people had started chanting “Penis Parker.” What a nightmare. My mother never explicitly said that parties get better in college. However, she definitely reminded me that there is life after high school on a regular basis, and that was very helpful for me. Peter's getting the same advice.
> 
> 3\. I know literally nothing about boxing. I’m sure it shows. One day, I’ll do proper research and come back and fix this section for the people out there who do know boxing. Today is not that day. 
> 
> 4\. Daredevil had people call him Mike in the first season of the show on Netflix. I am not sure what that’s about, but I’ve heard it was a nod to an alias he used in the earlier comics. 
> 
> 5\. I really argued with myself over this. Originally, I had May call Peter _zeeskeit_ , which is a Yiddish term of endearment for sweetie, I believe. I was reading a lot about different terms that could be used, and types of pet names and whether or not they were discouraged, and overall, I decided to change it. May is Italian in MCU, so I figure she’d call Peter an Italian pet name. The Yiddish Peter constantly mutters has come from Ben’s influence (at least for this story, anyway). 
> 
> 6\. Thoreau, guys. Henry David Thoreau. I had to read some of his essays in college and while they are interesting, it can be a bit of a struggle (for me, anyway). 
> 
> 7\. I don’t know why I have Peter so ill-at-ease in his own body. I guess I think it doesn’t matter what he looks like; he’s fifteen. Fifteen comes with a slew of issues, including body image for both boys and girls. Add that to his pretty obvious self-confidence issues (as seen in every version of Spider-Man ever), and this is the result. Also, for anyone wondering about this (no shame, just info), boys don’t like to be ogled any more than girls do. I think Peter (right now) is someone that doesn’t want people staring at him. On the flip side, I see Ned as the more confident of the two of them. He seems pretty comfortable in his own skin, so he’s kind of a reverse for Peter. 
> 
> Hope you liked the chapter! Leave me a comment to let me know what you thought, or come holler at me on [tumblr!](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/)


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He grabbed her shoulders. “Something’s wrong, MJ! Something terrible is about to happen—” a loud boom could be heard right next to them. The two teens looked up, startled to see a crack forming along the outside of the monument, smoke oozing out of it. “Oh my God,” he whispered._
> 
> _“Peter,” MJ said, “Peter, our friends are up there!”_
> 
> _“I know!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a chapter. All the research. All the decathlon fluff. 
> 
> Well, we didn't get to see it in movie, so why not. :-)
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Oh, hey, side note. If I get 10 more kudos on this story, it will finally have more kudos than my one-shot, [ Fake News.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19479211) Can we please make this happen? Not that I don't love that story, but that was a fluffy silly one-shot. This is has been _intense._ Fake News is like, my normal stuff. This is like, "oh, maybe I _can_ write a novel one day." Just, you know. Hit that heart. ;-)

“Oh God, Oh God it’s happening. We’re about to go up there. It’s happening, oh _God—”_

“Cindy!” Charles exclaimed, clapping the nervous, dark-haired girl on the shoulder. “We’re gonna be fine. Just calm down, okay?”

“Right—right. What’s the worst that could happen?” she laughed, nervously.

“Peter will suddenly get sick and Flash will have to step in as an alternate, and the last question will be physics,” Abe said in a flat voice. He hadn’t eaten much breakfast due to nerves. “Then Liz will kill us for screwing up her college applications, and she has money. She can hire people to hide the bodies.”

“Very funny, Abe,” Liz said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “But you forgot something. I’m very physically capable, and I’m incredibly smart. I wouldn’t _need_ to hire anyone to hide the bodies.”

The team was waiting in the wings, ready to join the competition and start their exams. Peter swallowed, suddenly fearing that he would forget every answer on the tests that were coming. This was huge. He had never competed in this capacity before. He thought the participation in Regionals over the summer was intense. This blew that competition out of the water. He stood frozen between Ned and MJ.

“I can’t do this,” he whispered, starting to take a step back. Ned and MJ each grabbed an arm to keep him there.

“Yes you can,” MJ said, firmly. Ned nodded along.

“Come on, Peter. You finished Liz’s practice quiz first out of all of us _and_ you got all the answers right. You’ve got this.”

Peter shook himself and nodded. When their team was called, they moved toward the stage and took their places. Ned reached a hand in his pocket, feeling the glowing crystal he stashed there this morning. “For luck,” he told Peter as they left the room. When Peter laughed, Ned responded that it felt lucky, like a rabbit’s foot, but with no animal cruelty. Peter figured it couldn’t hurt.

Flash stood on the sidelines with Mr. Harrington, and both of them looked about as nervous as Peter felt. It did very little to calm him.

“Hey,” Liz whispered as she took her place next to him. Her hand landed on his wrist. He looked between her hand and face with raised eyebrows. “We’ve got this, Peter.” She grinned at him and released his wrist, and Peter couldn’t help but grin back. He just had to get through the multiple-choice exams. He’d worry about the interview and speech portions later, when the actually came up. The announcer started the time, and Peter flew through the first test as quickly as possible. When he finished, he realized he had some time to spare, so he went back over everything, making sure he felt confident in his answers and trying not to second-guess himself. He repeated the process for each exam they took. When time for the final test was called, an assistant came and took all their tests then waved them off stage to prepare for the next event.

“Alright, guys!” Liz said, clapping her hands together. “Take a quick bathroom break and drink some water. Speech is next.” Peter groaned as he followed the boys into the bathroom. He _hated_ Speech. The only thing he was worse at was interviews. There was nothing for it, though. He used the bathroom and drank some water like Liz advised, then the team met up, ready for the next portion of the competition. Abe was muttering under his breath. MJ was going over her notecards. Peter flipped through the pages of his notebook, eyes moving over the speech he wrote about political interference with scientific advancements. It was certainly relevant, considering how many government sanctioned experiments had gone wrong and how many private ones had gone right. He wrote it ages ago, tweaking it here and there. He even practiced it in front of Mr. Wesley and Mr. Fisk, who had nothing but good notes for him. Peter shook himself as they entered their room and took his seat against the wall, clearing his head.

The judges entered and called them up. Peter sat on his hands as he watched his friends and teammates speak confidently about their various topics. MJ gave a firm and strong speech about the Accords, how they came to be, and why they were wrong. Peter guessed by the raised brows on the judges’ faces that she sparked their interest. Ned gave an interesting speech about current methods of communication and how they were a positive influence on society and culture. Liz spoke about how negative advertising in political campaigns should be banned. All three of them did a great job on the impromptu speeches, too. Peter felt his hands start to sweat a little. It was his turn.

Peter spoke the same way he did when he presented the topic to Mr. Fisk, applying every pointer Mr. Wesley had shared with him about body language, movement, and the tone of his voice. He pretended he wasn’t at the actual competition, but in a room with his boss. While the thought was still a little terrifying, it felt familiar to him in a way the competitions did not. He completed within time, and listened to the directions for his impromptu speech topics. Peter moved to the table, waited for them to call time, and flipped the card over. His eyes were immediately drawn to the last option.

He could probably talk about this in his sleep.

“You’re ready, Mr. Parker?” the head judge asked. Peter nodded, standing in the middle of the room again, ready to speak.

“Do you think that school uniforms are an asset or a hinderance to student life? Explain.”

Time began. Peter swallowed, opened his mouth, and spoke.

“I’m sure you all know that Midtown School of Science and Technology is a very prestigious high school.” Peter took a quick glance at the floor, then looked back up at the judges, expression serious. “I happen to be one of the students who attends on a full scholarship.” He went on to explain how, despite his intelligence and hard work, he was usually made to feel like he was lesser than a lot of his classmates—even by some of his teachers at first—because his family didn’t have much money. He told them how school uniforms could have changed that.

“If everyone is dressed the same, and if everyone carries the same bag, no one can really know which kid gets their stuff from Macy’s and who shops at Goodwill. If cost is an issue, there’s no reason why that can’t be part of the scholarships offered to the students who need financial aid to attend,” he went on. He included points about how school uniforms could create a sense of belonging, and how several issues that many schools faced—dress code violations, crime, and even gang population, would be reduced and possibly eliminated with school uniforms.

“In conclusion, I know that my opinion is not the most popular in my age group. I can feel my team seething behind me,” he said, offering a small smile and a little shrug. The timekeeper laughed and covered her mouth quickly. “But I can see how the pros far outweigh the cons and I believe that the overall impact of school uniforms is a positive one.”

The judges nodded and asked him to step down. Cindy took his place, giving him a fist bump as they passed each other. Peter sighed in relief, glad that was over. After the rest of the team finished, they were released for lunch before they would have to do the interview portion of the competition. 

MJ and Ned had gone off to get some extra snacks before their break ended, leaving Peter to review his notes for the next event. One advantage of his relationship with Mr. Fisk and Mr. Wesley was how involved they were in his scholastic endeavors.

_“When you look good, it reflects on the company,”_ Mr. Wesley had told him while drilling him on the interview questions last week. He had been working on a new project with Aaron at the time, but Mr. Wesley came by to give him some extra practice while he worked. _“Your success becomes Mr. Fisk’s, so he wants you to do well.”_

“Peter?” Peter looked up from his notebook, shaken from his thoughts. Liz stood in front of him, eyeing the empty space beside him on the bench he sat on. He glanced to the side and shifted over, making more room for her to sit down. She joined him and sat quietly, looking at the ground. Peter resumed looking at his notes.

“Did I ever make you feel that way?” she asked suddenly. Peter looked up from his notebook again.

“Huh?”

“During—during school. When you first started at Midtown, did I ever make you feel bad?” she asked, looking him in the eye and biting her lip. “About money, or anything?”

Peter shrugged and drummed his fingers against his notes. “Not really,” he responded. Most of his teammates looked past his economic situation, but that could easily be because by the time he joined, things had already improved because of his internship. He knew them all before though, and other than Flash, they were respectful towards him. The worst thing most of them ever did was underestimate him. People had always done that though, no matter where he was. Mr. Wesley said this was going to be a good trait, no matter how frustrating it was for him now.

Liz put a hand on his knee. He twitched, surprised by the sudden contact. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking upset. “I had no idea that you felt that way. I mean, I knew about you when you came to school. I kind of kept an eye on you,” she smiled.

Peter’s ears got hot. He needed to learn how to control his blush around this woman. “Really?” he asked. “Why?”

Liz giggled as she pulled her hand away to tuck her hair behind her ear. “The teachers wouldn’t stop talking about you. I thought you might be some serious competition for me if we ever ended up sharing classes.”

“Come on,” he scoffed.

“I’m serious!” Liz said, rolling her eyes. “I heard you were this crazy smart kid. You took Ms. Warren for Chem One that year. I was her TA first semester, remember?” Peter’s eyes widened. He didn’t think Liz would remember him from back then. “You were sharp. At first, she had me watching you to make sure you weren’t cheating,” Liz laughed. “I thought your family paid your tuition just like the rest of us, and I always figured you dressed like that because you were trying to be some kind of hipster.”

“What?” Peter exclaimed.

“Well sure. You wore this mix of button ups and nerdy t-shirts. You even had those thick-framed glasses. All you needed was a manbun and a goatee,” she joked, nudging him with her shoulder. “Anyway, I just wanted to apologize if I ever made you feel bad.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Good. You’re so nice all the time. I always thought you were really smart and funny.” Peter watched as her cheeks darkened slightly. He grinned, heart stuttering a little.

“Wow, Liz. Thanks,” he said, a little breathlessly. MJ and Ned returned and Liz sprang up as MJ handed Peter some gummy worms.

“Hey guys,” Liz said, smiling brightly. “We’ve got about five minutes before it’s our turn. Then it’s the super quiz and we’re done.”

The interviews went better than expected. All the drilling with Mr. Wesley had really paid off. Peter felt pretty confidant in their performance. They lined up and went into an auditorium-like room for the Super Quiz. Peter felt his nerves come to life as they walked past a very full audience; he couldn’t believe they’d be answering questions in front of this many people. Most of them appeared to be students that Peter hadn’t seen yet. They were most likely the ones from the larger schools that would compete tomorrow.

Once the quiz started, they kept their buzzers within easy reach as the questions were asked. Liz was right to quiz them in the areas they were weak in. Abe froze up on a history question, but Cindy was quick to give the answer. MJ did the same on a literature question, but Liz covered her, clearly remembering the extensive list of questions she drilled Peter on about Henry Thoreau (what were the odds of that?). The hour flew by, and the final question was asked.

“What is missing from the pictured formula, known as Euler’s Identity?” the Quizmaster asked. Peter stared at it, drawing a blank. They used this in Physics and Calculus. This was Peter’s area. Peter glanced over at Liz who was raising her eyebrows at him. He gave her a small headshake, completely panicked. A buzzer went off. MJ’s hand was hovering over her button. The whole team started at her anxiously. Peter could feel tension radiating off of every person in the room.

“Midtown Tech?” the Quizmaster asked.

MJ looked thoughtful for maybe half a second before she spoke. “Zero.”

“That is correct,” the Quizmaster said. The room cheered as Ned reached over and hugged MJ, who was trying to contain her smile and failing. Mr. Harrington and Flash jumped up and down from the sidelines, and Liz clapped her hands ecstatically. Abe wrapped Peter in a one-armed hug, and Peter was grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. He knew that they would have to wait for their scantron results, but with the results of the Super Quiz, he felt like they had done ridiculously well.

Soon after, the group was released and to celebrate, they decided to go sight-seeing and went to the Washington Monument. After they arrived, the majority of the team decided they wanted to take the tour and see the inside. Peter stared up at it warily, feeling his heart rate spike at the sheer height of the thing. MJ stood beside him, a book in her hands as the rest of the group moved toward the entrance.

“Taking it all in?” Mr. Harrington asked when he noticed how far behind the group they were. Peter swallowed nervously.

MJ shrugged as she gazed between the building and their teacher. “Uh, yeah, I guess,” she said. “I just don’t want to celebrate something that was built by slaves.”

“Oh!” Mr. Harrington said, turning around and seeing a security guard standing near them, clearly listening to their conversation. Mr. Harrington appeared to make eye contact with the man. “I’m sure the Washington Monument wasn’t built by—” the guard waved his hand a bit, indicating that there may be some truth to what MJ was saying.

“Okay,” he said, buttoning his jacket. “Enjoy your book. Peter, are you coming?” he asked, walking backwards a little.

Peter glanced over at MJ. “I also don’t want to celebrate something that was made by slaves,” he said, sticking his hands in his pockets. Mr. Harrington glanced between him and the rest of the group nervously.

“I’ll keep an eye on him, Mr. Harrington. We’ll use the buddy system,” MJ said blandly. Mr. Harrington let out a relieved sigh and jogged after the team, catching up to them. MJ sniggered when he was out of earshot. Peter groaned.

“One trip!” he exclaimed. “One trip and I didn’t disappear.”

“No,” MJ said, still smirking. “You just happened to be the only one who wandered into a room we weren’t supposed to be in, and managed to get bit by one of the experiments there.”

“I was fine.”

“You had to be hospitalized immediately,” MJ responded, shaking her head.

Peter huffed. “It all worked out.” MJ shrugged and sat on the stone bench outside. Peter sat beside her, pulling out his phone and loading a game.

“Why did you really stay behind, Parker?” MJ asked. She hadn’t moved her eyes away from the pages in front of her. Peter bit his lip and put his phone back in his pocket.

“You’ll think it’s stupid,” he said, scuffing his shoe on the ground. MJ shut her book and looked up at him, staring at him very seriously.

“Try me.”

Peter sighed and scratched the back of his head nervously. “I—” he cleared his throat. “Okay, so this weekend, you know how I disappeared from Liz’s party?”

MJ rolled her eyes. “Yes. Liz wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“Really?” Peter asked, brightening a little. MJ stared at him with an unamused expression and he cleared his throat again. “Well, have I told you anything about these weird weapons I’ve been tracking since September?” MJ straightened up, a hint of surprise flashing on her face. “Okay. So there are these weapons—”

“The ones the guys at the ATM had, right?” MJ interrupted. Peter gaped at her. “Parker, that’s one of your most watched videos, and I hate to break it to you, but you’re really more of a side feature. Everyone, and I mean _everyone,_ has been talking about how weird those things were that were used against you.”

“Huh,” Peter said. He shook himself a little. “Well, the point is I’ve been looking for them ever since, and while I was at Liz’s house, I saw them.” MJ’s eyes widened. “They lit up like fireworks, MJ. They couldn’t have been anything else, so I left the party and ran to where they were going off. I got there, and I saw the guys who are selling these stupid things, and they saw me. They booked it, so I chased them.”

MJ nodded, listening intently. Peter swallowed, a little nervous about telling her the next part. “So, so I went after them and I caught up to them—I was running along these rooftops—and I… well I jumped to get them and—” Peter twisted his hands together, his heart thrumming even harder in his chest. MJ cocked her head to the side. “I’m sorry,” he said suddenly. “This—this is really hard to talk about.”

MJ waited quietly beside him. After a beat she held out her hand, flat on the bench, palm up. Peter glanced between it and her unmoving face before placing his hand in hers. She squeezed it gently and offered him a small smile. Peter took a deep breath and continued.

“I—I jumped off the roof but something caught my foot and pulled me up,” he said in a rush, fingers twitching slightly in MJ’s hand. “And you know—I mean I swing in New York. There’s no faster way for me to get around, but I don’t think I’ve ever gone that high—at least not without something close by that I can catch myself on with my webs.” He looked over at the girl beside him. She nodded once, not saying a word. Peter licked his lips and looked away, settling his eyes on some trees a good distance away.

“This weird—guy—I guess… I don’t know. He had these freaky glowing eyes and some kind of a wingsuit—he grabbed me and was flying me up into the air way higher than I’ve ever gone—” Peter coughed and blinked his eyes rapidly, feeling a familiar tightness in his throat and chest, “—and then he dropped me? Or I got free—I’m not really sure. The point is I fell. I fell into a lake from at least a thousand feet—”

“You fell into a lake from a thousand feet?” she asked. He nodded and her fingers squeezed his a little tighter. “Oh my God, Peter, how are you even alive?” she whispered.

Peter laughed, high and panicked. He had been wondering the same thing for the last couple of days. A tear escaped his eye and he dashed it away, quickly. “I don’t know,” he said helplessly.

“You should at least have broken bones,” she continued, brows furrowed.

Peter shrugged. “My bones are hard to break, but to be honest, they may have fractured,” he said, “and I got bruised up and hurt. It faded sometime during the next day.” He shrugged off her stunned look, but still held onto her hand. It was easier to let it out while he had physical contact with her. “I heal fast. The thing is, I knew I had to go out as Spider-Man again, and I did—but it was hard. I don’t think I could have done it if I didn’t have the mask. Spider-Man—uh—he gives me confidence, I guess. Going up to the top of that thing,” he said gesturing toward the national landmark, “I don’t think that Peter Parker can handle that right now,” he finished. He started to let go of MJ’s hand but she squeezed again, so he stilled.

After a moment of silence she spoke. “That must have been so scary,” she said.

“Yeah,” he responded.

“Thank you for sharing that with me.”

“You’re not going to make fun of me, or anything?” he asked, nervously. The glare MJ levelled at him made him blush.

“Geez Parker, I’m not heartless. You went through trauma. Of course I won’t make fun of you! You’re my friend.”

Peter grinned, feeling relieved that he could tell someone about what happened without having to worry about being judged. “Thanks, MJ.”

MJ cleared her own throat and finally let go of his hand.

“Hey, was this place really built by slaves?” Peter asked.

“Oh yeah,” MJ said, her eyes lighting up the way they usually did when she started talking about civil rights. “It’s one of our dirty secrets. Let me tell you all about the construction of our nation’s most phallic symbol.”

Peter laughed then gasped, sharply, clutching his head. His spider-sense was blaring like a siren, lighting up his every nerve.

“Peter?” MJ asked, worried.

“Something’s wrong,” he hissed, standing up and looking around, wildly.

“What—”

He grabbed her shoulders. “Something’s wrong, MJ! Something terrible is about to happen—” a loud boom could be heard right next to them. The two teens looked up, startled to see a crack forming along the outside of the monument, smoke oozing out of it. “Oh my God,” he whispered.

“Peter,” MJ said, “Peter, our friends are up there!”

“I know!” Peter said, grabbing his bag and running toward some porta-potties. MJ ran after him. Peter ducked into an unoccupied chamber and quickly stripped then pulled his suit on. Once his mask was in place he burst out and ran toward the building, ignoring MJ’s panicked voice calling his name.

As he started scaling the building, the voice from last night chimed in his ear. “Hello, Peter.”

“Uh, Suit-lady, right now is not a good time,” he said as he moved up the stonework as fast as he could.

“What’s happening?”

“There was a big explosion,” Peter said, “and I think my friends are trapped in the building.” Diagnostics of the building’s current state flashed in front of his eyes, startling him. He was lucky he didn’t stumble.

“It appears there are several people trapped in the elevator,” Suit-lady said. “That is the origin point of the explosion. The occupants are facing imminent danger.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know,” Peter muttered.

“The easiest access point will be the southwest window.”

“Really?”

“I assume you didn’t know that.” Was the suit seriously trying to joke with him right now?

“Not funny, Suit-lady,” Peter ground out, moving as quickly as he could to the window. Once he reached it, he paused to catch his breath, turning around. This proved to be a mistake.

Peter gazed at the little specks of people below him, heartbeat skyrocketing. He couldn’t do this. _He couldn’t do this._

“What’s wrong? You have reached the southwest window,” Suit-lady said. Peter winced and gingerly started moving toward the sill, waving away seagulls. “Why are you hesitating?”

“I—uh—I don’t—this is really high up,” he stuttered, walking onto the edge of the window.

“You have also not reinstalled your parachute, so a fall from this height could prove fatal.”

“Not helpful, suit-lady.”

“Sorry.”

Peter pulled his foot back and began kicking madly at the glass with all his strength. He didn’t even cause a crack. “Why isn’t it breaking?” he grunted, still kicking the glass.

“This is four-inch ballistic glass. You’ll need to create more momentum.” Peter sighed, resigned, and threw a web out to the roof above him. Then he pulled his body away from the building and swung into the window, over and over again, feeling as the glass started cracking in a spiderweb pattern where his feet met it.

Two helicopters started surrounding the top of the building. Peter wondered what good that would do for the people inside until he heard the demand for him to stop what he was doing being called out through a megaphone.

“My friends are in there!” he called back, but either they didn’t hear him or didn’t care. He looked inside and saw four of his teammates were standing around something, panicking and pointing. It was an absolute nightmare. His friends were the ones stuck in the elevator, and not all of them were safe yet. Peter could feel time slipping away from him. He growled and started running up to the very tip of the building.

“Suit-lady, you said this thing has wings, right? Little gliders?”

“Yes,” the suit responded. “They release right beneath your arms and connect between your upper arm and ribs.”

“Okay,” Peter whispered when he arrived at the top. He clutched the point, his back to the helicopter. “When I jump off, you need to release them just after I turn. Can you do that?”

“Of course,” Suit-lady responded. She seemed very sure of her capabilities.

“Okay—oh, I’m gonna die,” he muttered, preparing to spring off the building. He prayed silently and pushed off, moving up and over the hovering helicopter. As he turned, Suit-lady deployed his wings to give him a little extra momentum, and he arced around the helicopter. Peter shot a web at the rail underneath, using it to propel himself as quickly as possible toward the window.

The glass shattered at his feet. He slid in just in time to hear the scrape of metal against metal and people screaming. Without even thinking about it, he shot his web down the elevator shaft, but he immediately knew the first thing he caught was not the elevator. He ignored his teammates’ panicked questions as he whipped it out and to the side. Then he shot another web, encasing the top of the box that was quickly plummeting to the ground. Peter underestimated how heavy the thing would be and was immediately pulled forward before he caught the elevator doors with his feet. He groaned and strained, pressing against the walls that framed the elevator shaft with all his might. He managed to catch his breath, but the second he started pulling up the box, the doors gave way, and Peter was pulled into the elevator as well.

All he could hear was terrified screaming as he thudded on the floor of the box. Without thinking about it, he immediately let out another web out of the hole and up to the top of the shaft, then he allowed himself to be pulled to what remained of the ceiling of the elevator. The box stopped and Peter grunted, holding tightly to his webs. He panted then looked around at the four remaining occupants in the elevator. Liz, Ned, Mr. Harrington, and a woman Peter had never met before all stared at him, completely stunned. Peter cleared his throat. Now was as good a time as any to try his Joey Tribbiani impression.

“Hey, how you doin’?” he asked as he started hauling them up. “Don’t worry about this. I got you.”

Of course, Ned was the one to break the silence. “Yes!” he shouted, fist pumping up and down in excitement. “Yes!”

Peter felt his webs give at the sudden movement. “Hey, hey, hey! Big guy! Quit moving around!” he shouted, panicked.

Ned immediately ceased his movements. “I’m sorry, sir. So sorry!”

Peter managed to haul them up to the opening and the people outside helped the others. Liz was too terrified to leave her place against the wall. After Ned and the security guard got out, Mr. Harrington stayed right by the doors, holding his hand out to Liz while he was being pulled out of the elevator. Liz kept hesitating, reaching her hand out to the teacher.

“Liz,” Mr. Harrington called, trying to get back in the elevator to grab her. “Liz?”

The piece of metal under Peter’s feet finally gave way. He instinctively stuck to the string of web with his feet, listening as Liz began shrieking again. He shot out another web and caught her wrist. She dangled below him, eyes wide and wet. He gently pulled the web upwards, feeling the webbing that was holding him up start to give.

“You’re okay,” he repeated, over and over, as he pulled Liz closer to him. Once she was within grabbing distance, he held her hand tightly, sticking to her. He wouldn’t drop her. He pulled her by one arm to the door, wincing as he thought of how much it must hurt and wishing she would give him her other hand. As soon as they were able, the security guards grabbed her from him, pulling her to safety.

“So,” he said, still hanging upside down and staring at a group of terrified teenagers and adults, “is everyone okay?”

Wordlessly the all nodded. Peter swallowed and started to move up his web when it suddenly snapped and he plummeted downward.

_Oh shit,_ he thought, barely registering that someone had called thank you to him. He managed to angle himself so he could throw out a new web, catching himself hard enough to wrench his shoulder. He grit his teeth at the sudden pain he felt, then shook it off and descended slowly to the bottom of the elevator shaft. He moved around the wreckage and found his way out. Luckily, there were no people on the bottom floor. It looked like it had been evacuated. Peter found even more luck; someone happened to leave behind a long trench coat.

Peter had never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He stripped out of his suit quickly and pulled off his mask, then wrapped himself in the coat and darted out of the building through a side exit. He worked his way into the crowd until he saw MJ, who was holding his bag. As soon as he reached her he grabbed his bag from her, and together they made it to an obstructed area. MJ kept a lookout while Peter changed his clothes as quickly as he could. He shoved his suit in his backpack as soon as he was finished.

“Peter—” MJ began, hesitantly.

“Everyone’s okay,” Peter gasped. He couldn’t calm his heartbeat. Blood was rushing through his ears. His stomach was churning and he felt acid clawing its way up his throat.

“Are _you_ okay?” MJ asked.

Peter opened his mouth to respond and closed it quickly, gagging. He shook his head before suddenly falling on all fours, vomiting in the grass below him. He felt a warm hand rubbing his back while he was sick, and he was torn between gratefulness and embarrassment as he emptied his stomach.

After his body stopped rebelling against him he straightened up, wiping his nose and mouth. MJ wordlessly handed him a water bottle. He swished the clean water in his mouth, spitting out the taste of vomit before taking a sip. He trembled as he stood, wondering when the adrenalin crash would hit. MJ grabbed his arm and pulled him back to the crowd. They stood on the edges, waiting for their friends to come out. When Mr. Harrington appeared with the teenagers in tow, MJ let out a relieved sigh and sagged against him. The crowd started cheering and MJ pulled Peter forward, pushing against people to get to their friends. Once they were close enough, Mr. Harrington stepped forward to greet them putting a hand on both of their shoulders.

“We’re okay,” he said, voice only slightly shaky. “Spider-Man saved us.”

Everyone was so shaken that they packed and left that day, not wanting to waste any more time away from their families. They didn’t have anything else to do for the competition, anyway. The bus ride was a quiet affair and Peter slept through most of it; the adrenaline crash hit him about half an hour after they were on the road. Ned shook him awake when they entered the city and Peter was surprised to find his own hands were still shaking a little.

“Dude,” Ned whispered, awed. Peter looked up at him with a furrowed brow. “Thank you.”

Peter yawned and scratched his neck. “It was nothing, Ned.”

“No it wasn’t,” Ned said, looking at Peter’s hands. There was red and purple bruising inside his palms from how tightly he had to hold onto the web. Peter tucked them into his jacket pockets. “If you weren’t there— _thank you._ ”

As soon as he got off the bus, he found himself in May’s arms. He buried his face in his hair, holding onto her.

“It’s okay _il mio bambino_ , I’m here,” she whispered.

“I’m fine, May,” Peter said, face still pressed against her hair. “I wasn’t even in the elevator, I’m fine.”

May pulled away and held his face in her hands. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s grab your suitcase and go home.”

Peter nodded and followed her from the bus to her car. She turned the key and the old engine purred to life. A few minutes after the car started moving, Peter rested his head against the glass and closed his eyes.

He didn’t open them again until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Writing Notes:
> 
> 1\. Spider-Man Homecoming did not do Academic Decathlon right. Based on what I saw in the movie, I thought it was some kind of knowledge bowl thing. When I researched it—wow. Just. Wow. What I did earlier in the story? With the GPAs? Wrong. Each team is supposed to have members from each level (varsity, scholastic, and honors) I’m pretty sure. The Super Quiz at the end is supposed to be fairly silent. There’s one buzzer, and the team uses first non-verbal then verbal communication about the answer to the question. Plus everyone has to participate in Speech and the Interview components, and each member needs equal time to participate. It’s crazy. My version is not right either, but it’s a smidge closer. 
> 
> 2\. Peter’s thoughts on school uniforms are not mine, for the most part. I’m indifferent. When I was a kid, we got our clothes at Walmart a lot. I don’t think I ever owned a designer anything, and people can tell in high school. It’s ridiculous. I never wanted a uniform, though. They seemed to repress one’s ability to express themselves. Now as an adult with my own child—I’m still pretty indifferent. I guess I see the benefits and the downsides. Peter on the other hand, well—when he first started attending Midtown, I think he thought it would be really nice if his classmates couldn’t just tell right off the bat that he came from a working class family. 
> 
> 3\. I am not a math person. I do words. So when I watched Homecoming again (for um… research. Yeah. Not for funsies) and they only showed MJ’s answer to the question asked, I was like, “Noooooooooo!” So I kept trying to google complicated equations where the answer was 0 and I just got a bunch of “in this piece of the equation it equals 0 blah blah blah,” I was at a loss. I started searching for weird equations, found Euler’s formula, and just threw it in. So. Yeah. Hope it works for ya. 
> 
> 4\. Has anyone ever heard the theory that the student Mr. Harrington lost was actually Peter on the OsCorp field trip? I thought that was the best thing ever! Like, it was a funny (though disturbing) joke in the movie, but to apply the Spider-Man story to it—I just love it. 
> 
> 5\. People. We can’t survive drops that are hundreds of feet. I mean, we can, but it’s rare. Landing in water does not make much of a difference. The higher you are, the more “solid” the water you’re landing in becomes. I read somewhere that falling into water from great heights is no different then falling into sand. Physics. 1000 feet is ridiculous. Peter should be dead. I think the only reason he isn’t is that he is very strong, has a healing factor, and he wasn’t quite high enough to reach terminal velocity. He really should have been more hurt, so I will need to go back and edit. 
> 
> 6\. You can read this scene however you like. Romantic, platonic, whatever, but the way I’m writing it, MJ is offering comfort to a friend. This story isn’t really meant to be about pairings or romantic relationships, so however you want to interpret that is up to you. 
> 
> 7\. No one knows for sure if slaves were involved in the construction of the Washington Monument. There are no records that indicate it. However, it’s more than likely they were involved. We like to ignore the ickier parts of our history, at least in the US. “Oh, no records. Must not have happened. TURN A BLIND EYE!”
> 
> 8\. Originally, the whole thing at the Monument wasn’t going to happen. Then I couldn’t figure out how to get something else I wanted to happen. Then it was going to happen without Karen. Then I realized that based on the way the story was told in the movie, the likelihood of Peter figuring out how to break the glass, and being successful at it (finding the right entry point, knowing the glass wouldn’t break w/o more momentum, releasing his wings) was slim to none without her. 
> 
> 9\. Mr. Harrington or the security guard should have been the last ones out of the elevator. I'm pretty sure everyone knows this. It wouldn’t have been as cool/sweet/romantic if Peter couldn’t catch Liz and save her from certain death. It still irks me a little, because he's a good teacher, and he would make sure she got out before him if he could. If you watch that scene again, you can see how Mr. Harrington stays in the elevator as long as possible and reaches out to Liz and shouts her name several times to get her to come out of the box. It’s kind of heartbreaking to see, because he knows there’s nothing he can do with her so far away.
> 
> Did you like it? Let me know. I love hearing from you guys. I'm [ @hanuko](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sick day turns into a catastrophic failed rescue attempt.
> 
> Iron Man is not happy with Peter.
> 
> Peter isn't very happy with Iron Man, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a rough one. There was a lot of incorporating the movie with the previous stuff written and the upcoming stuff I'm going to get to in a couple of chapters, so you know. 
> 
> Writing it was great. Editing... oof. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought of this one. I'm pretty proud of it, and I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> Enjoy reading!

“Peter, honey? It’s time to get up.”

Peter groaned and rolled over, pulling the covers over his eyes. His whole body ached from yesterday’s excursion. His head felt like it was splitting open, and his mouth was dry. He smacked his lips and sat up, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. He felt like he could sleep even longer. He looked around his room blearily. The last thing her remembered was getting in May’s car.

“May?” he asked, voice hoarse. Peter wondered if he had gotten sick. He thought he couldn’t anymore because of the spider-bite, but that could have been pure luck.

May tugged the covers down a little and pressed her hand to his forehead. She hummed thoughtfully as she removed it. “Hon, I hate to break it to you, but you look terrible. Are you sick? You don’t feel feverish.”

Peter shrugged, not removing his hands. “My head is killing me,” he mumbled. He heard May sigh.

“You had a rough day yesterday,” she said. “Do you even remember waking up to come upstairs?” Peter shook his head.

May sighed. “I think maybe you should stay home and get some rest. You haven’t taken a sick day yet this year, and you’re running yourself into the ground.”

Part of Peter wanted to protest. He knew he should go to school, and he’d rather save his sick days for an actual emergency, like if he broke a bone or something. The rest of him was screaming to lay back down and sleep for another week.

“Okay, May,” he said, his protesting body winning out. He laid down, and May tugged his comforter back over him.

“Do you want me to stay home too? I can make you soup—well, heat up some soup,” she chuckled. She was already in her scrubs. Finding someone to cover her shift would be a nightmare.

“No, that’s okay. I’ll be fine. If I get hungry, I’ll grab something from the pantry,” he said, rolling over. He felt her pat his hair.

“I’ll bring you some Tylenol and water, okay?”

Peter didn’t bother telling her the pills wouldn’t work. “Okay, May.” His aunt left and returned with the medicine and water, and she sat on the edge of his bed, making sure he took it. After he drained the glass, she left again and returned with it filled up, placing it on his nightstand.

“You drink plenty of fluids and get lots of rest. Call me if you need anything, okay? If it’s an emergency, call the hospital. I’ll let them know they need to page me if you call,” May said, sternly

“Okay.”

“I love you sweetie. See you after work.”

“Love you, May,” he mumbled, drifting back off. He didn’t even hear the door click shut.

Peter woke later to the sound of his phone beeping incessantly. He grunted and sat up, licking his lips and scratching his head. When he looked at his alarm clock and saw that it was almost nine, he panicked until he saw a sticky note right beside a glass of water on his nightstand.

_Bambino,_

_You woke up with a migraine and I told you to stay home. I’ve already called the school. There’s some chicken soup from the deli in the fridge if you get hungry. I’ll be home after 3:00._

_Love you!_

_—May_

Peter sighed in relief. He hadn’t overslept. He got up and went to the kitchen. After he started heating up the soup, he checked his phone.

_[Wednesday 10:30 PM]_

_GITC: oh man, that was crazy today_

_GITC: i didn’t know you could *hold up an elevator*_

_GITC: why didn’t you say anything?_

_[Wednesday 10:40 PM]_

_GITC: peter?_

_GITC: duuuuuuuuuuuude._

_[Wednesday 10:53 PM]_

_GITC: dude?_

_[Wednesday 11:05 PM]_

_GITC: just text me tomorrow k?_

_[Today 7:45 AM]_

_GITC: dude, where are you?_

_GITC: are you coming to school?_

_[Today 8:30 AM]_

_GITC: are you okay???_

_GITC: peter??? Are you hurt? Is it an SM thing from yesterday?_

_[Today 8:44 AM]_

_GITC: im texting may if i dont hear from you in 5 mins._

Peter chuckled and tapped out a reply.

_[Today 8:46 AM]_

_SpyD: sorry man. im okay. had a migraine this morning._

_SpyD: stayed home._

He scrolled through his phone and saw MJ had sent him a message too.

_[Today 8:42 AM]_

_Elementary, my dear Watson: Hey loser. Ned’s freaking out. Can you text him to let him know you’re alive?_

_[Today 8:47 AM]_

_SpyD: already did. not feeling well today._

Peter smiled at MJ’s swift response. She was always really sneaky with her phone.

_[Today 8:48 AM]_

_Elementary, my dear Watson: I figured. I saw, remember?_

_Elementary, my dear Watson: Plus, you slept for almost 3 hours on the bus._

_Elementary, my dear Watson: I thought you took a sick day._

_SpyD: yep. no surprising u_

_Elementary, my dear Watson: Learn proper grammar, loser._

Peter laughed and went back to the kitchen to stir his soup. Once it was warm, he poured it into a bowl and sat in front of the TV, figuring he would watch some stupid court shows while he ate. His suitcase sat innocently to the side of the couch, open and half unpacked. Peter was lucky that he put his Spider-Man suit in his backpack.

As he ate, he thought about the new things he had discovered about his suit. He wished he had taken more time on the trip to learn about Suit-lady, especially considering how helpful she was in rescuing his friends. He wouldn’t have gotten to them in time if not for her. Halfway through a bite of soup, it dawned on him that he could learn about her now.

He quickly slurped up the rest of his meal and set the bowl on the coffee table, then went back to his bedroom and pulled his mask out of his bag and put it on.

“Hello, Peter,” Suit-lady said.

“Uh, hi, Suit-lady,” he responded.

“By my estimate, you should be in school,” she said. She almost sounded like she was scolding him.

“Yeah. I had a bad headache this morning, so my aunt had me stay home,” he said, shrugging.

“I see. And how are you feeling now?”

“Better, actually. Thanks for asking.”

“You’re welcome.” The suit had a warm, almost motherly voice. Peter frowned as he thought about that, wondering what went through Mr. Stark’s head when he designed her.

_That you’re a kid,_ a nasty voice said in the back of his head. He sighed. He hadn’t been able to be a kid for a long time, now. Too bad Mr. Stark didn’t seem to get the message.

“Is there something wrong?” Suit-lady asked.

“Huh?” Peter straightened up a little. “Um. Not really. I feel kind of weird calling you Suit-lady, though.”

“You can name me anything you like.” Peter thought about it for a minute.

“Huh. Maybe Liz? No. No no no, that would be so _weird_ ,” he said, shaking his head.

“Why?”

“Oh. Um. Liz is this girl I like at school. It’d be kind of strange to name you after her, you know?” he said, blushing a little and scratching his neck.

“I suppose.”

Peter thought about it some more, but as he really paid attention to her voice, he noticed she reminded him of someone from a long-ago meeting. A woman with blonde hair, kind eyes, and a warm smile.

“What about Karen?” he asked, spinning in his chair a little.

“You can call me Karen, if you would like,” she responded. Peter smiled.

“Cool. Karen. Yeah, I think that’s a good fit.” Peter kept spinning his chair, feeling restless. He looked over at a notebook where he had been jotting down information about the Damage Control. He flipped through it idly, wondering how soon it would be before the Kingpin found those guys, and if they would roll over on their boss.

“What’s that?” Karen asked.

“My notebook?” he asked. “It’s just notes about some bad guys I was trying to find. I think I hit a dead end, though.”

“Why do you think that?” Karen asked, curiously.

Peter shrugged and leaned back. “Well,” he began, unsure of what to say. “I guess… okay. A while back there were these guys robbing an ATM with these crazy weapons.”

“On September nineteenth at approximately 7:30 PM,” Karen responded. “Would you like to view the footage?”

“You have footage?” Peter asked, alarmed.

“Yes. I record everything you see.”

“Oh,” Peter said, another suspicion Mr. Fisk had about his suit confirmed. He slumped down dejectedly.

“It’s called the Baby Monitor Protocol.”

“Of course it is,” Peter muttered, before a new worry came to mind. “Oh shit.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you—do you send that stuff to Mr. Stark?” he asked, quietly.

Karen seemed to pause a beat before responding. “Tony Stark has access to all of my files, if he chooses to peruse them. However, he has only accessed my files one time shortly after you began using the suit to ensure everything was operating smoothly. You were rescuing a kitten at the time.”

“Really?” Peter asked, relieved.

“He has not deemed it necessary since then.”

“Is there any way to—never mind.”

“What is it?”

Peter dropped his notebook and rubbed the back of his head. He couldn’t ask her if there was a way to prevent Mr. Stark from accessing any of his recordings without raising a giant red flag. He’d just have to stay on the man’s good side.

“It’s not important. Anyway, I’ve been trying to find the people making the weapons. I came close, too. Last Friday I was at a party, and I saw them trying to sell to someone. I almost had them, but some guy in a wingsuit stopped me from catching them,” he said, still irritated that they all got away. “Since then, I haven’t really been able to get a good lead on them.”

“I can run facial recognition if you’d like,” Karen offered.

“You can do that?”

“Certainly. Would you like to view what’s been recorded?”

“Sure,” Peter said, scratching his head. “It was on Friday. Um. October ninth between seven and eight at night.”

“Okay.” Suddenly a recording of him running through the golf course was playing. “Whoa, that’s awesome!” he said, grinning.

“Thank you.”

“It’s past this, can you fast forward?” Karen spun through the footage until he saw the car under the overpass. “This is it! Do you have anything on them?”

The camera isolated each face. “Searching law enforcement databases,” Karen said as a square blinked in front of each face. “No records found for two of these individuals.”

“Nothing?” he asked, deflating. So much for that.

“One individual identified. Aaron Davis, age thirty-three.”

“Yeah, he’s not our guy,” Peter said, disappointed.

“What made you come to this conclusion?” Karen asked.

“I know him. I work with him. He hasn’t messed around with anything for a long time,” Peter said, firmly.

“Then why was he trying to make an arms deal?”

Peter paused. She had him there. He still hadn’t figured out why Aaron was there. Was he there on his own? Was he working for Mr. Fisk that night? Aaron figured out Peter was enhanced ages ago and was doing other stuff for Mr. Fisk. His mentor even implied that he had a side gig for the Kingpin as well. Maybe Aaron _did_ have some information.

“You know, that’s a good point,” Peter said, glancing at his clock. It was 9:45. “Let’s pay him a visit.”

He suited up and snuck out his window, then swung himself over to the market near Aaron’s apartment complex. He knew Thursday was the day of the week Aaron set aside everything so he could spend time with Miles, and he always stocked up on sundae makings.

When he arrived, he spotted Aaron’s beat up car, and knew he would just have to wait for Aaron to show up.

“Shall I activate Advanced Interrogation Mode?” Karen asked.

“Sure,” Peter said. A beep sounded in his ear, and the spider emblem popped off his suit and started hovering. Peter stared at it with wide eyes. “Whoa,” he said, then clutched his throat. His voice sounded ridiculously deep. “Why does my voice sound like this?”

“Studies have shown that vocals in the lower range are very intimidating,” Karen responded.

“Clearly you’ve never met Norman Osborn,” Peter said, thinking of his chance meeting with the businessman. He may have been polite, but he was _spooky_ , and he didn’t seem to have a low register at all.

Peter heard footsteps and jumped behind a concrete pillar. Aaron was approaching with a couple of bags of groceries. He set them on the ground and popped the trunk. The spider-drone hovered behind him, and the buzzing of the hovering robot made Aaron look around, suspiciously. Peter took a deep breath, resolving himself, and moved forward, quickly webbing Aaron’s hand to his car.

“What the—”

“Remember me?” he said, stalking forward aggressively.

Aaron’s eyes widened and he tried to step back, but the web on his hand prevented him from moving. He held up his free arm in a placating way. “Hey—”

“I need information and you’re gonna give it to me now,” Peter growled, stopping a short distance away.

“Alright,” Aaron said, making a calming gesture with his hand. “Just chill, man—”

“Come on!” Peter shouted, leaning forward.

Aaron’s face went from slightly panicked to confused and suspicious. “What happened to your voice?” he asked.

_Shit shit shitty shit,_ Peter thought. _Of course_ Aaron would remember he talked to him when he interrupted the deal. _It’s okay, Parker. Just play it off._

“What do you mean what happened to my voice?” he scoffed.

“I heard you by the bridge. I know what a girl sounds like,” Aaron said, scowling.

“I’m not a girl, I’m a boy!” Peter said, incensed. His eyes widened. He could have smacked himself. “I mean, I’m a-a man.”

“I don’t care what you are; boy, girl whatever,” Aaron shrugged.

“I’m not a girl!” Peter shouted. “I’m a _man_.” Aaron stooped down to grab his groceries, clearly not bothered by Peter in the least. “Come on, man, look, who is selling these weapons?” Aaron went on ignoring him. “I need to know. Give me names, or else!”

Aaron stared at him, flatly, and slammed the trunk of his car, startling Peter and causing the vigilante to step back. Aaron smirked.

“You ain’t never done this before, huh?” he asked.

Peter sighed. He had, but never with this stupid tech. “Deactivate interrogation mode,” he said. The drone attached itself back to his chest and Peter slumped a little, frustrated as Aaron chuckled. “Look man,” he said, hoping if he pled with Aaron the man could help him out, at least a little. “These guys are selling weapons that are crazy dangerous.” Aaron looked at his nails, clearly bored. “If one of them can just cut Delmar’s Bodega in half—”

“You know Delmar’s?” Aaron asked, interested.

“Yeah,” Peter said, as if he had never spoken with Aaron about this before. “Best sandwiches in Queens.”

“Sub Haven’s pretty good.” Peter rolled his eyes.

“Sub Haven’s got too much bread,” he said.

“I like bread—wait. Does this feel familiar to you?”

Peter raised his eyebrows. “Huh?”

“You know, like this has happened before,” Aaron asked, scratching his head.

“Like déjà vu?” Peter asked, sweating a little.

“No, like we kind of had this conversation before, but not like this, but it happened.”

“That sounds like déjà vu,” Peter said, flatly.

“Man, shut up about déjà vu,” Aaron said, getting annoyed.

“Look, can you help me?” Peter asked. “Come on, man, please?” Aaron continued staring at him and Peter sighed, defeated. Aaron may be willing to help Peter Parker, but Spider-Man was the guy who kept throwing his friends in jail. He wouldn’t help him. “Forget it,” he said, walking away. “Stupid interrogation mode,” he muttered. “Karen, don’t _ever_ do that again—”

“The other night you told that dude, _‘if you’re gonna shoot somebody, shoot me,’_ ” Aaron said. Peter turned and saw Aaron, looking thoughtful. “That’s pretty ballsy,” he said with a little shrug. Peter walked back toward Aaron, holding his breath. “I don’t want those weapons in my neighborhood. I got a nephew who lives here.”

“Who are these guys?” Peter asked. “What can you tell me about the guy with the wings?”

Aaron scoffed. “I don’t much. I hear he’s a psychopath. I don’t know his name, and I don’t know where he is.” Peter sighed again, leaning against the side of his car and dropping his head back on the roof. This whole thing—the interrogation mode disaster, coming down here in the first place—it was all for nothing. “I know where he might be soon, though.”

Peter perked up, grinning. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Aaron said. “This guy I work with, he’s pretty sure there’s gonna be a deal going down today. A big one. He wanted me to check it out, but it’s uh—outside of his jurisdiction.” It looked like Aaron was after these guys for the Kingpin. Mr. Wesley wasn’t lying when he said he had all hands on deck for this one.

“Yes! Peter said, excited. “Yes! Where?”

“Man,” Aaron said, bluntly. “Can I give you some advice?”

Peter blinked. “Um. Sure?”

“You gotta get better at this part of the job,” Aaron said, shaking his head a little.

“I don’t understand,” Peter said, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m intimidating.”

“You know what’s weird?” Aaron asked. “I’ve heard you were. From some of my homies. I hate to say it man, but I don’t see it.”

“Well that’s just hurtful.”

“I call it like I see it,” Aaron said, shrugging. “Staten Island Ferry. Eleven.”

“Oh that’s soon!” Peter exclaimed, starting to run off. “That’s gonna dissolve in two hours,” he said, pointing at his webs.

“No no no,” Aaron called. “You fix this!”

“You deserve that!” Peter said, continuing on. _Call me a girl, huh?_

“Come on, man! I got ice cream in here!”

“You deserve that!” _Not intimidating. Rude._ “You’re a criminal! Bye, Mr. Criminal!” he taunted as he left the garage. Peter moved as quickly as he could to the Staten Island Ferry and managed to catch the boat just as it was leaving. He crawled up and past the windows, peering inside until he saw someone he recognized. Baldy was inside, talking to someone.

“Man, what are they saying?” Peter muttered, irritated. There was too much sound going on for him to isolate their voices. Managing his enhanced senses in this kind of commotion was ridiculous.

“Would you like to hear them?” Karen asked. Peter’s eyes widened.

“Uh, yes?” he said.

“Activating Advanced Reconnaissance Mode,” Karen said. The camera in his mask zoomed in on Baldy.

“Man, I hate this guy,” Baldy muttered.

“Just keep me posted,” the guy sitting across from him said.

“Who the hell is talking to Baldy,” he muttered.

“There’s no record of him in my databases,” Karen said.

Peter sighed. “Karen, can the drone watch him for me?” he asked, inspired by what he had seen earlier.

“Of course,” Karen said. The drone released itself from Peter’s suit and flew inside the boat, hovering around the two men.

_I’m not letting you get away this time,_ Peter thought, venomously. _Bring weapons into my neighborhood? Drop me in a lake? We’ll see what the Kingpin does to you._ Baldy left and Peter swung up to the top of the ship and hovered, following him to where the new deal was taking place. He moved to the end of the ship, watching Baldy meet a small group of people on the deck below. “Who is he talking to?” he asked. Karen isolated his face, pulling up a record before responding.

“Mac Gargan,” Karen responded. “He has an extensive criminal record, including homicide.”

“Why is he out of jail, then?” Peter hissed. “He sounds dangerous!”

“Would you like me to activate instant kill?” Karen asked.

“What!?” Peter exclaimed. “No! I don’t want to kill anybody!” Peter was completely stunned this suit had a kill-mode of all things. The Kingpin didn’t even ask him to kill anyone, and he was a bad guy. He wondered what kind of hero Mr. Stark thought he would become. If the billionaire’s ideas involved Peter killing anyone with his own hands, he didn’t want to have anything to do with them.

“Alright,” Karen responded, unaffected by his negative response.

“White pick-up truck,” Baldy said. One of the men in the group looked around and started heading below, where the cars were parked.

“Crap, there are probably a ton of those—” Peter muttered. “I can’t get down there in time to look at all of them.”

“I can have your drone scan the ship to see how many vehicles match the description and where they are located,” Karen said.

“Yes! Have the drone do that, please.”

“No problem,” Karen said. Suddenly an image of the side of the Ferry was in front of his eyes, and blurry images of vehicles were passing in front of him. “There is one vehicle that matches the description.” The drone went into the ship and hovered over the vehicle, sending images to Peter. The guy from the deck met the driver, and in the back of the truck were a ton of altered weapons.

“Jackpot,” Peter muttered. He could web them up here, call Mr. Wesley and let them know which precincts they’d likely end up in, then let him handle the rest.

“Incoming call from Tony Stark,” Karen said.

“What?” Peter asked, alarmed. “My phone is connected to this—no, Karen, don’t answer!”

Tony’s face popped up in front of him. “Mr. Parker,” he said, removing his glasses. “Got a sec?”

“Uh—” Peter began, scurrying around to watch what Baldy was doing now. “I’m—at school?”

“No you’re not,” Karen said. Peter could die. Mr. Stark was going to ask him what the hell he was doing out of class, and his whole cover would be blown because Karen would spill everything. Like she was designed to do. Peter was panicking, still watching the people involved with the deal while half-listening to Mr. Stark.

“Listen; great job in DC,” oh, thank God he didn’t hear Karen. Mr. Stark was saying something about his dad and a shame cycle.

“Mr. Stark, I’m in the middle of something right now.”

“Don’t cut me off when I’m complimenting you,” Mr. Stark said. Peter sighed and ignored him, crawling closer and closer to everyone involved in the exchange. Suddenly, the horn of the Ferry blared. “What was that?” Mr. Stark asked.

Peter swallowed nervously. “Um. I’m at band practice.”

Mr. Stark looked skeptical. “I thought you dropped band a while ago.” How could he possibly know that? Was he spying on Peter outside of the suit, too? “What’s up?” Mr. Stark asked, tone turning skeptical. Baldy was waving some car keys at Mac, urging him to take them.

Peter outright panicked now. Everything Mr. Wesley taught him flew right out the window. “Mr. Stark, I gotta go,” he said.

“Hey—”

“End call!” Mr. Stark’s face blinked out of the mask. Peter let out a sigh of relief before wincing. This was _not_ going to end well. Oh well. There was nothing for it now. He swung down and webbed the keys out of Baldy’s hand. “Yoink!” he shouted as he landed on the deck.

“Guys, guys, guys. The illegal weapons deal was on the other ferry half an hour ago. This is the ‘you’re busted,’ ferry,” he said, readying himself to fight. Two of the men pulled out guns, but Peter snatched them quickly and pulled them out of their hands. As he started webbing people up, Baldy ran up to him, ready to ram him with the stupid electric fist that he got knocked down with last time. His spider-sense flared to life and Peter dodged, webbing him to the grate on the end of the boat. Two guys tried to run, but Peter managed to web them to the deck. He sighed, relieved. He had them. It was finally over. Maybe Mr. Fisk would give him a break after this. Peter heard a thud and scream from behind him. He spun around to see the guy who was talking to Baldy standing behind the pickup truck near a van.

“You’re not getting away this time,” he muttered, starting to run forward as the man started to climb into the van.

“FREEZE!” someone shouted above him, making him pause. “FBI!”

“FBI?” Peter asked, dumbly. He started putting his hands up as several men surrounded him, shouting at him to get on the ground.

“The FBI is the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” Karen said.

“I know that, Karen!” Peter shouted. A loud, sawing sound went off and Peter saw a wing burst out of the side of the van. All the FBI agents turned and pointed their guns, ready to shoot. Peter swallowed and took a step back. It was him.

The guy with the wings.

He looked like some kind of _vulture._

The armed men started shooting at him and Peter saw the vulture-like guy was carrying a large, glowing gun. “Get out of the way!” he shouted, spider-sense warning him to duck. Something very bad was about to happen. The villain flew by, picking up a car with his clawed feet and flinging it at the FBI agents, as well as the grate Baldy was pinned to, freeing him.

“Get to the top deck!” It looked like the Vulture the guy in charge. “We’re getting out of here.” Peter tried to web Baldy as he ran away, but the Vulture shot as his webs, going through them like a match burned thread. Peter webbed the Vulture’s foot and tried to pull him down.

“You’re—not—getting—away,” Peter grunted as he pulled. “The—Kingpin—wants—a—word—with—you—”

The Vulture jerked him back and forth, and despite the amount of webs Peter used to tie him down, he kept slicing through them with his wings like they were nothing. All the while, that stupid cannon was blasting all over the place. Peter, finally fed up with the stupid thing, webbed it and pulled it from the Vulture’s hands. It hit the deck and started firing randomly. Peter watched as each blast hit a different part of the ship before wrapping the gun in his webbing.

“You’re messing with things you don’t understand!” the Vulture shouted at him. Peter turned to face him, ready to catch him with his webs again when the gun behind him exploded in a bright, violet burst. Glowing purple rays cut through all the decks of the ship and the Vulture flew away. Peter stood there for a moment, shocked and unsure until the gun gave out one final pulse. Peter panted heavily, listening to the creaking of the ship and screams from the passengers. Water started spraying through a giant split down the bottom deck of the ferry.

_Oh crap. Oh no,_ Peter thought. “Karen! Give me an x-ray of the ship and target the strongest points!” he shouted, running forward. He leapt upwards and connected all of them together with his webbing knowing that there was just _no way_ this would work. This would be a very temporary solution at best that might keep them afloat long enough for rescue boats to arrive. When Karen announced that he was ninety-four percent successful, and showed the three stupid joints he missed, his heart sank. The webbing was splitting quickly, and he threw two webs at either side of the boat, determined to hold the thing together or split apart with it when—

“Hi, Spider-Man.”

_Oh no._

“Band practice, was it?” Iron Man was here. He and a small battalion of drones were pushing both halves of the boat together. As soon as the boat was holding, Iron Man started to fly away.

“Yeah, Iron Man!” Someone shouted, clapping his hands. Peter felt the blood drain from his face. This was bad. This was so, _so_ bad. Peter winced as he heard Iron Man’s lasers going off as he flew through the ship. Peter sighed and moved to the deck, then sat on the edge, waiting for an opportunity to get the hell out of dodge. Iron Man stopped next to him for a moment.

“When we get close, you’re gonna wait for me on Governor’s Island. Got it?” he said sternly.

Peter nodded, mute. Iron Man flew away and he sighed heavily. A little girl came around the corner to see him sitting there.

“Are you in trouble?” she asked in a small voice. She twisted back and forth shyly, tugging on one of her blonde pigtails. Peter shrugged in response. The little girl walked up and patted his shoulder. “When I get in trouble with my daddy, I have to sit and wait, too. Until he’s ready to talk to me.”

Peter scoffed. “That’s not my dad,” he said.

“Oh,” the little girl said. “Well, why are you doing what he says, then?”

Peter frowned, not sure how to answer the question. He shrugged again.

The little girl rocked side to side, biting her lip. “Thanks for trying to save us, Spidey,” she said, grinning and giving him a quick hug. Peter felt like his heart had fallen into his stomach and a sharp sting in his eyes. The little girl watched him for another minute then went back to where she came from leaving him alone.

The whole capture was a complete failure. He lost the weapons, the wing guy, and even freaking _Baldy._ He almost got everyone on this boat killed, and for what? So the Kingpin could throw his weight around and show that he was the biggest bully on the playground?

But if he _hadn’t_ tried to catch them now, they all would likely be in police custody, but not the ones Mr. Fisk controlled, and it was all because he spilled to Mr. Stark. There was no way he could have kept that from the crime boss. He would be dead. May could be—

Peter swallowed. Tony called the FBI. He called them because of Peter’s information and didn’t even say one damn word to Peter about it. As a result—Peter shuddered to think of what could have happened, and it was all because he opened his damn mouth. 

When they came close to the Statue of Liberty, Iron Man grabbed Peter and flew him to the place he wanted him to wait while the rescue boats and helicopters got to work. The teenager sat on top of the white, octagonal building, watching the rescue get underway. A small clock showed up when Peter asked Karen the time, showing it was almost one. He frowned. He wouldn’t wait forever for Mr. Stark. If he wasn’t here in a few minutes, Peter would bolt. If he really needed to talk, it wasn’t like he didn’t know where Peter lived. Peter looked around. He hoped he wouldn’t have to swim to shore. Maybe he could web himself to one of the helicopters. It was a daunting thought, but he knew he could survive a thousand foot fall into water from past experience, so he would probably be fine.

He just wanted to go home.

“Previously on Peter Screws the Pooch,” Mr. Stark began as he arrived, landing near Peter. Peter pulled off his mask, looking down in shame and embarrassment. “I tell you to stay away from this, and instead you hacked a multimillion-dollar suit so you could sneak around, _behind my back,_ doing the one thing I told you not to do.”

“Is everyone okay?” he asked, quietly.

“No thanks to you,” Mr. Stark said, coldly. Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath, relieved that no one was seriously hurt.

“That’s good,” Peter responded, blandly.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say? Not only did you ruin a perfect bust, but I had to fly out here and clean up _your_ mess.”

“Like you’re really here,” Peter scoffed. He heard the sliding of metal on metal and turned to see Mr. Stark step out of the Iron Man suit, a furious look on his face. Peter swallowed and stood up, taking a step back.

“You know,” Mr. Stark said, moving forward menacingly. Peter couldn’t help but back away. When Mr. Fisk got like this it was best to let him have his rant and keep his mouth shut. “I was the only one who believed in you? Everyone thought I was crazy for recruiting a fourteen-year-old kid.” Peter felt that wave of disappointment again. Mr. Stark didn’t even know how old he was. He wasn’t even fourteen when he _met_ him.

“I’m fifteen,” Peter muttered.

“No! This is where you zip it!” Mr. Stark said, glaring, still pacing forward. “The adult is talking.” They finally stopped moving and Peter looked down at the ground, blinking his eyes rapidly against tears that were suddenly building up. “What if someone had died today? Huh? That would have been on you. And if you die? Well that’s on me.” Peter looked up from the ground and gaped at him. What the hell was Mr. Stark even talking about. He had no bearing on Peter’s actions. They were his own. “I don’t need that on my conscience.” Peter held his breath, waiting for whatever Mr. Stark had to say next. “Look, it’s not working out. I’m gonna need the suit back.”

Peter blinked. “What?”

“The suit. I need it back. If you can’t listen to what I say, then you’re not ready for it.”

Peter stared at him blankly, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. “You—need the suit back?” he asked. He felt a bitter feeling tightening his stomach, chest and throat. The tears in his eyes built faster and he constantly swallowed to keep them at bay.

“Yeah. That’s how this works,” Mr. Stark said calmly, shrugging indifferently. All the stress of the last few months that was building in Peter suddenly reached a boiling point. He never even _wanted_ this suit. It caused him more grief than anything else in his life when it was essentially _forced_ on him, but after using it the past few months, Peter realized how useful it was. It made him feel protected when he was out there, even in Mr. Fisk’s presence.

There was one reason that Peter was willing to wear the suit in the first place. One stupid conversation that made him feel like he could even take the dumb thing. God, he was so _stupid_ to trust this guy. He knew this game. He had played it before with a much more dangerous man, and he _still_ fell for it. He wondered if he always would.

Peter giggled. Mr. Stark blinked and tilted his head. Peter giggled again and covered his mouth with his hand, trying to stop himself.

“What’s funny?” Mr. Stark asked. At this, Peter doubled over, wrapping his arms around his aching ribs and laughing hysterically. “Kid?”

“I—” he gasped, tears falling from his eyes as he laughed. “I knew it. I fucking _knew it_ —” he straightened up and threw his hands in the air. “You’re the same—you’re the god damned same and I _knew_ it, but I didn’t want to believe it so I didn’t. Oh my God, I’m _such_ an _idiot_ ,” he sniggered, staring at Mr. Stark’s shocked expression. “So much for no strings, huh?” he asked. He finally stopped laughing, but he grinned even though tears were still streaming down his face.

Mr. Stark scowled at that. “Look, Underoos—”

“No, I get it Mr. Stark,” Peter said, waving him off, wiping at his face. “I didn’t do your dance. I didn’t play your game so you want your shit back. It’s cool. I knew that would happen all along.”

“Hey,” Mr. Stark began examining Peter, scowl turning into something that looked like curiosity.

“Well you can have this stupid suit back. I don’t need it. I never did,” Peter said, still grinning. “You know where I live. Just come by. You can pick it up whenever you want.” He turned to leave.

“No, I need it back now,” Mr. Stark said, but he was hesitant.

“Well, Mr. Stark, I’m not swinging home naked. What do you think I’m gonna do? Hide it in some remote dumpster near my apartment?” Peter shook his head and clicked his tongue. “I can’t believe how well you played me. I didn’t think that could happen again, you know? I thought I wised up. You sure showed me.” He pulled the mask over his face. “You never wanted to protect me,” he snorted. “I can’t believe I bought that even for a second. Nope. You wanted to control me. How about that.” Peter saw a helicopter flying overhead toward Manhattan. He recklessly aimed his wrist up. _Screw this,_ he thought. _I’ll be fine. Not like I haven’t survived this kind of drop before, if it goes that way._

“Whoa, kid what are you doing?” Mr. Stark said, stepping forward a little panicked.

Peter shot his web without looking, knowing it would hit true. Sure enough, he felt himself tugged upward. “See you in Queens, Mr. Stark!” he called as the chopper flew away. Mr. Stark ran back to his suit but Peter wasn’t having it. He shot another web at Tony’s feet, tripping him up and sticking him to the ground. “Come on. Be fair. I can’t fly, so you have to give me a head start!” he shouted. “Bye!”

Mr. Stark stared up at him in shock as he dangled beneath the helicopter. Peter shook his head, chuckling to himself as it took him toward the city, slowly and carefully climbing up his web.

He wasn’t able to stop crying the entire way back to Forest Hills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Run Writing Notes:  
> 1\. GITC is Guy in the Chair. Elementary my dear Watson is because we all know Michelle is this universe’s take on Mary Jane (at least so far), and she reads everything (I liked it). SpyD seems self-explanatory. 
> 
> 2\. You know, the People’s Court and Divorce Court and all those? A lot of them play in the morning where I’m at, in-between infomercials. Pure mindless television, entertaining for everyone. 
> 
> 3\. Karen has such a mom voice to me. It’s really baffling, because he’s got this crazy super-suit that has an instant-kill mode, but is all soft and “how was your day, that’s so funny blah-blah.” Am I the only one? 
> 
> 4\. [Willem Dafoe’s](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sAfxBXAQCZM) [Green Goblin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PYutN0vCYyc) is fantastic and no one can tell me otherwise, and he does NOT speak in a low voice. The lowest he goes is not... it's more growly than low. I love it. It makes him creepier. 
> 
> 5\. Earlier in this story, Peter, Miles, and Aaron talked about Sub Haven and Delmar’s, but there was no dialogue, just a summary. Rest assured, an almost identical conversation happened. I didn’t want to write it out at the time because I thought I would use this scene later, and didn’t want to have the dialogue twice. 
> 
> 6\. So, let me tell you the reasons why the suit bothered me in Homecoming. Peter built practically all of his own tech. His homemade suit was part of that (you know the suit making montage in Deadpool? I wanted that for Spidey a little bit, too). The fact that one was given to him so early on just rubbed me the wrong way. The tech also seems to be a hinderance to his development. He has enhanced senses and if he uses that crutch, he can’t develop them naturally. He has a pre-cognitive sense that I think Karen would stunt (remember how much he struggled in Far From Home?) Plus, the very fact that it even has a kill mode (which is a Tony thing, not a Peter thing) is so opposite of Spider-Man it just hurts my heart. That’s why I mention them as often as I do—just a reminder of how badass Petey-pie is without tech. 
> 
> 7\. Whoa, Pete! You don’t want to bring anyone to Kingpin. Right? Hello? Buddy! Aw, come on, Peter I told you earlier to drop the cocaine! No but seriously, he’s in it. His thought process has changed quite a bit since he first started. This is his normal. I promise it will get better. 
> 
> 8\. Thank you Tony, for calling it DC. ;-) In Homecoming, Tony knows because Peter tells Happy and Happy tells Tony. There was a lot of reporting Peter never knew about it. Why does Tony know Peter dropped band, or was ever enrolled in the first place? Because he’s doing his version of protective mentor/friend/dad, which means looking into Peter’s shit, including school records. It’s not like it would be difficult.
> 
> 9\. He’s less successful in putting the Ferry together than in Homecoming, because he doesn’t know what his suit can do. Also, that would not work. You cannot cut a boat in half, push the two halves together and just float merrily along. It looks cool, though. 
> 
> 10\. I just needed Peter to be as disappointed and betrayed by Tony as possible in this sequence. So Tony doesn’t know his age (because seriously, who’s age does he know?), and he doesn’t get very personally involved (just science and superhero stuff), and he doesn’t communicate. And he said the suit was purely to protect Peter. How can he say he wants to protect him but then take away the thing that’s doing that? Tony thinks he's doing a parent thing. You give your child a cool toy (a privilege), and when the child is disobedient and acts out, you take the toy away and make them think about what they’ve done. Tony doesn’t fully understand why Peter does what he does. He doesn't even fully understand that the suit isn't a toy. They don’t have the same mindset, so Tony thinks this will slow Peter down. We all know better. It didn’t pan out the way Tony was expecting. Because kids are complicated, especially ones with genetically altered spider DNA and a vigilante side gig. To be a parent is a mess. 
> 
> Hope you all liked it. Please leave a kudos and/or a comment. Almost at 300! Whoo! Come say hi to me, [@hanuko,](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You want to tell me what’s going on?” she asked after he calmed down. Peter shrugged, listlessly._
> 
> _“I—” he croaked then cleared his throat, a little scratchy from all the yelling and crying he had done. “I’m fine.”_
> 
> _“Cut the bullshit, Peter,” May said firmly. “I know something is up. Tell me what’s wrong.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies! 
> 
> This one was hard. It's set up. Because you know, things are _coming._ Things that are already written are _coming,_ but I haven't written all the in-between set up stuff because it's _boring._
> 
> Okay, it's not boring. It's pretty cool. But it's long, and it's hard making sure what is being written now will correlate with both what has happened and what will happen. 
> 
> Whee!
> 
> Enjoy!

“Hi, Tony. Peter said you would be stopping by.”

“He—he did?”

“Yes. Are you surprised? He does let me know when people are coming over for him, being my kid and all.”

“Ah.”

“He said you needed to pick this up? Something he was borrowing from your lab?”

“…Yes. Thank you.”

“Of course. Sorry he’s not able to give it to you himself. He stayed home from school today and feels pretty awful.”

“Really.”

“Uh-huh. I’m not sure if you heard about that disaster at Washington—oh who am I kidding, it was all over the news.”

“Yeah. Yeah I heard.”

“Well it was Peter’s friends who were trapped in that elevator. Good thing Spider-Man was there.”

_Good think Karen helped me figure out what to do,_ Peter thought dejectedly, rolling over in his bed.

He had _just_ managed to beat May home. The teenager changed back into his Pajamas and threw the suit in a paper bag as the front door unlocked. Peter sat on the edge of his bed, dropping the bag to the floor. When May knocked and came in to greet him, she looked aghast at the state of him. He was still blotchy and sweaty from his speedy journey back to Queens, and his eyes were red. When she asked if he was okay, he felt the tears he had just managed to control well-up again. May didn’t say anything. She just walked right over to him, sat on the edge of his bed, and let him cry on her shoulder. He mumbled that Mr. Stark would come by to grab this bag from him, and could she please give it to him? He didn’t want to be seen like this and felt awful. May kissed the top of his head, and sure enough, when the knocking started, she took the package and left Peter’s side without a word to meet Mr. Stark.

“Yeah,” Mr. Stark said slowly, “good thing he was there.”

“Anyway, Tony, Peter had a rough couple of days. I think lab time is out of the question this weekend,” May said. Peter could just see her face; one eyebrow raised, her mouth set in a stern frown. “He’s really overworking himself and needs a break.”

“Sure, May,” Tony said after a pause. “Whatever you say.”

“Have a good day.”

“You, too.” The door clicked shut. May came back into his room and sat on the edge of his bed again. She rubbed gentle circles on his back, humming a little. They sat like that for a while in the quiet, Peter occasionally sniffling while May comforted him.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” she asked after he calmed down. Peter shrugged, listlessly.

“I—” he croaked then cleared his throat, a little scratchy from all the yelling and crying he had done. “I’m fine.”

“Cut the bullshit, Peter,” May said firmly. “I know something is up. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Peter sat up and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “I just—” his throat felt tight again. Peter was being pulled in so many directions by the Kingpin and Iron Man and the people he was trying to save on a regular basis that he felt like he was being torn apart. Daredevil wanted to teach him how to box. Ned and MJ wanted him to take pictures of himself for their stupid blog. Miles wanted to find out how his suit worked—he was going to be very disappointed when he found out it was taken away. On top of all of this there was the absurdity he had gone through the last few days with the lake and the ferry and Washington. Now May knew. She knew him better than anyone, and she knew something big was going on. How could he possibly lie to her about something so huge?

_Deflect,_ Mr. Wesley’s voice whispered in his head. Peter swallowed.

“Yesterday was so scary, May. Everyone almost—Ned almost—” tears slipped out of his eyes. He was still shaken by it. He almost lost one of his best friends in the world. The Vulture was right. He was messing around with things he didn’t understand. The problem was he couldn’t seem to stop. “And things have been crazy in Hell’s Kitchen, you know? Dr. Octavius has been trying to help me with my projects more and more, but she’s so weird. And Aaron has been swamped with some side project he’s working on, so I’ve been working with her and Mr. Wesley more. I just—it’s just been really hard, the last couple of weeks.”

“Peter, if you’ve got too much work, you can stop. I know this internship will be good for your college applications, but that’s years down the road,” May said, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Peter dashed at his eyes.

_No I can’t._ “I know, May. I know. Normally it’s not that bad. It’s just messy now. After these projects we’re working on are done, I think I’ll be able to take a breather.” He hoped so. He missed snatching human traffickers and normal weapon dealers. He winced internally. He couldn’t believe he just wished he could go back to grabbing normal people for Mr. Fisk again. He wondered how his life got so complicated so quickly.

“Hey,” May said, smiling, “how about I make Matzo ball soup tonight?”

“You only make that at Passover,” Peter said, confused.

May shrugged. “Yeah. But you love it, and I think you could use a treat today.” The tightness in Peter’s chest loosened. “I already bought the stuff. Come help your auntie make it.”

May managed to drag Peter out of his room to the kitchen. May made the matzo mixture while Peter sat on the counter and “helped” by keeping May company and listening to her talk about her day, occasionally going to the pantry or refrigerator to grab the ingredients she asked for. After the mix was made and set in the refrigerator to finish, she made some tea and grabbed some cookies from the cupboard for them, and they sat together at the table. Peter munched half-heartedly at one of the cookies and May eyed him curiously.

“Why did Tony need to grab that thing from you today?” she asked. “What was it?”

Peter shrugged. “It’s a piece of tech he was developing for one of the Avengers. I got to borrow it for a while to see how it worked, but he needed it back today.” May hummed, sipping her tea.

“Hey,” she said, a twinkle in her eye. “It’s been a while since I kicked your ass at Gin. Want to get the cards?”

Overall, it was a pretty fun evening. As they played cards, they talked and laughed in a way they hadn’t been able to for a while. Peter didn’t realize how much he missed his aunt. They used to do things like this all the time before the bite. The last time they played Gin was when Ben was alive. Peter thought he might be bitter or sad when he came to that realization, but instead he just smiled fondly at his aunt when she laid down her cards, smirking over her win.

“What?” she asked, smiling warmly at him.

Peter shrugged. “Ben would be laughing at how spectacularly I lost right now.”

May’s smile faltered for a second, but she recovered, grinning broadly. “Yeah. He’d probably lecture you about keeping better track of the cards.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, “but it’s more fun to keep track of the conversation.”

May laughed. “Well, I suppose I’ll need to teach you how to do both.”

Later, after they finished putting together the soup and ate dinner, May asked how Peter felt about going to school. Peter, relaxed after an afternoon of May’s attention (and delicious soup), affirmed that he wouldn’t have any troubles tomorrow. He had such a good time playing games and talking and eating, he almost forgot about the disaster the morning wrought.

As he laid in bed that night, though, he couldn’t help but think about it.

Peter didn’t regret going after the Vulture. If the FBI hadn’t been involved, he would have caught that vulture-guy, he was sure of it. The guy had to get into his suit. Peter would have webbed him up before he even got the chance. He couldn’t help but wonder if maybe that wouldn’t be the case though. Maybe the ferry would have split in half no matter what he did. Hell, maybe it would have happened if he wasn’t there at all. There was no telling. The thought did little to sway the guilt that smothered him. He sighed and rolled over, plagued by thoughts of what would have happened to the passengers if Iron Man hadn’t showed up.

Peter felt his eyes sting and he growled in frustration. He was so _sick_ of crying over what had happened. _You knew it,_ he thought to himself. _You knew this wouldn’t last. It never lasts. There’s always something. Now at least you know where you always stood with the guy. That stupid string finally showed itself._

Peter tried to shake the sorrow he was feeling. So what if they met one time at Mr. Stark’s labs? All they talked about was stuff for the Avengers anyway. Mr. Stark didn’t care what Peter had to tell him about constellations or old movies. He just humored him. It seemed like the men in his life were always humoring him, these days. Ever since Ben died, he had a hole in his chest that he needed to fill with something. When Mr. Wesley came along and started helping him with homework and talking about school, and when Mr. Fisk told him he was proud of his attitude with bullies, or even when Aaron invited him over to hang out with Miles or do fun stuff like throw up art—it made him feel like he was healing and the hole inside was disappearing. Then everything got torn open again when he made the mistake of taking that human trafficker to the police. He knew he couldn’t trust people again after that.

And Peter didn’t. He didn’t trust the Avenger that suddenly showed up at his apartment. He was so nervous about Tony Stark. He already knew Mr. Stark didn’t care about people like him—not really. The billionaire had furthered oppression against his kind by signing the Accords. He often would butt heads with Professor Xavier, who was the forerunner for enhanced peoples’ rights, and Mr. Stark almost always said that it was because more regulations would protect them. He didn’t have a clue what more regulations would do, because they wouldn’t touch him. When he came to their home for Peter, the boy was terrified. Peter didn’t know what would happen to him. He didn’t know how to reconcile the man who supported government control of people like him with the superhero genius that dove into a wormhole to save the world.

Peter didn’t have much of a choice in the matter though. Tony—Mr. Stark—forced his way into Peter’s life, bit by bit. First with Germany, then the suit, and then some lab time at the compound. Every encounter chipped away at the armor Peter had carefully constructed around that wound in his heart, demanding entrance, and Peter went along, however reluctantly, until the billionaire managed to worm his way in.

Peter pressed a fist to his mouth to keep his cries silent as tears dripped onto his pillow. How could Mr. Stark _do_ that to him? He didn’t understand how the man could insist he wear a suit for his own protection, then in the next breath take it away. Peter was still Spider-Man. He still got shot at. There was still the possibility he would wind up dead in an alley somewhere. Mr. Stark didn’t care as much as Peter thought, though. He acted like he did. He acted like Peter’s wellbeing was his motivation for nearly everything he did, but Peter saw through that now. Peter knew now that Mr. Stark saw him as some kind of pawn to be moved where he saw fit. Once he found out Peter wouldn’t be controlled because of some fancy tech, he took it away. A soldier isn’t useful if he won’t obey orders.

Peter learned his lesson, this time. He wouldn’t do it again. He couldn’t. He didn’t need someone to act like that—like some kind of mentor who gave a shit about his wellbeing. He had May for that. He didn’t need anyone else. The fact that a part of him thought otherwise was what caused all of the hurt he was feeling now. He sighed, pulling the covers over his head, resolved not to think about it anymore.

The next morning Peter woke before his alarm. He rubbed at his eyes and rolled out of bed to get ready for school. He crawled to up to the ceiling and opened the panel the led to the crawlspace. He pulled his old suit out, glad he never got rid of it. Peter quickly threw it on, along with his old web-shooters (still fully stocked on webfluid), then put his regular clothes on top of it. It was thicker than what he was used to, but it was all for the better. It was starting to get cold earlier this year, and Peter found that lately he seemed to have a harder time keeping warm with the weather changes. His old suit could only help.

Peter threw together a quick breakfast (a toasted bagel with cream cheese), and kissed May on the cheek on his way out the door. The sun was shining brightly on the brisk autumn morning, and Peter strolled down the street toward his bus stop when he felt the back of his neck tingle. He turned his head and looked in the window of the convenience store, spotting a man all in black leaning toward the cashier in an intimidating way. Peter looked around and dodged into an alley, pulling off his clothes and shoving them in his backpack, then pulling his mask over his face. He threw his bag back on and came out of the mouth of the alley to see the criminal running away, clutching a bag close to his chest. Peter threw a web up and swung after him. After a chase that lasted about a minute, he caught the guy, webbed him to the wall, and bowed to a small group of people applauding him.

“Hey, Spidey!” someone called out. “What happened? Why are you in that thing? Feeling retro?”

Peter shrugged as he picked up the bag the man was carrying. It was full of cash and had a couple of cartons of cigarettes on top. “It’s cold today, man. Needed something warmer.” He waved and took a selfie with a girl who asked, then ran back to the shop and gave the cashier her missing money. The woman burst into tears and threw her arms around him, then gave him a large cinnamon roll from the nearby case in thanks. Peter stuffed the wrapped pastry into his bag, figuring he’d share it with Ned and MJ at lunch.

Despite the good deed he had just done, he felt hollow this morning. The tightness in his chest had loosened and he breathed easier, but a sense of melancholy hovered over him. As Peter went back to the alley, his bus drove by. Peter shrugged and swung to school, knowing he would probably beat the bus anyway. He would just throw his clothes on behind the dumpsters at school.

Once he got there, Ned caught him up on what he missed the other day. Apparently, the Decathlon team was the talk of the school. Betty and Jason had interviewed the team the morning they returned. Mr. Harrington was still shaken by the whole thing. “And everyone was asking where you were, Peter. You and Cindy and Liz were the only ones not here—”

“Liz wasn’t here yesterday?” Peter asked, concerned.

“No,” Ned said, shaking his head. “MJ texted her though, to make sure she was okay.”

“What about Cindy?” Peter asked, knowing she was in the elevator when that thing exploded. Ned told him it was the crystal. He didn’t know what happened, but it suddenly burned a hold from his backpack to the roof, halting the elevator. He wondered if she had gotten hurt.

“She’s okay too. They were just freaked out still. I saw you on the news though, man! What happened with the ferry?”

Peter looked around to make sure no one was listening. “I was going after those guys with the weapons, but at the same time the FBI was going after them. Then the guy with the wings showed up, shot a cannon thing, and it cut a hole in the ship.” Peter sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “It was really bad, man. I guess Mr. Stark—” he had to work very hard not to spit the man’s name out, “—had called the FBI to try to track these guys down, but he never told me, so there was a mix-up. It’s lucky no one got seriously hurt.”

“Why didn’t he tell you?” Ned asked, bemused. “He knew you were tracking them. Why didn’t he let you know he called someone?”

Peter winced. “Well, he _didn’t_ know I was tracking them.”

“I thought you told him about the wing-guy when he saved you last week?” Ned was the first person Peter had told the whole story to after it happened. That very weekend, he called Ned to try to work himself out of a panic attack from a particularly frightening freefall.

“I did,” Peter said, hesitantly, “but he told me to stay away from it, and I kind of ignored him.”

“Peter!” Ned exclaimed.

“I know, I know!” Peter groaned, “but Ned, he doesn’t get it. He didn’t—he’s not from here, you know? He’s not like us. I didn’t think he took me seriously so I kept looking on my own.” Peter was so adept at half-truths he barely noticed when he used them on his friends.

“What happened? I saw on the news that he showed up…” Ned trailed off, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

Peter let out a heavy sigh. “He was mad,” Peter said, shrugging a little. “He took the suit back.”

“What!”

Peter and Ned both whirled around at the sudden interjection. MJ stood right behind them. Her eyebrows were almost to her hairline, and her mouth hung open in complete surprise.

“MJ!” Peter said, letting out a relieved breath that it was just her and not some eavesdropper. “I keep telling you, don’t do that!”

“That thing protects you, Peter! It keeps you safe while you do all those bullshit heroics out there,” she said, completely ignoring his last remark. “You’re not back in the homemade suit, are you? The sweat-suit from the beginning?”

Peter frowned and nodded slowly.

MJ pressed her lips in a thin line, her brows coming dangerously low. Her eyes flashed angrily as she clutched the strap of her backpack tightly in her hand. “Stark’s never been okay in my book.”

“MJ—”

“No, Peter,” she said quickly. She turned and started heading to class. Ned and Peter followed, walking on either side of the girl. “I know you like him. I know he’s practically your hero, but how can you think that when the protection he gave you—something you’ve come to rely on—he took away in the same breath? Because you tried to stop some weapons dealers? Hell, you do that on a regular basis. You were doing that in Hell’s Kitchen before you ever got that suit. I remember reading about some of the criminals you were chasing after then.”

They paused in front of the doorway to their classroom, stepping aside to let other students in. Ned sighed. “You know Peter, I kind of agree. I can understand him being angry about it, and maybe even worried. But why would he take your suit? It doesn’t make sense. You didn’t have that suit when you started. Does he think you won’t be Spider-Man anymore?”

Peter chuckled humorlessly. “Well if he does, he’s in for a rude awakening. I just busted a guy who robbed the convenience store by my bus stop.” The warning bell rang and they went inside the classroom, ready to take on Ms. Warren’s practice midterm. Apparently, sophomore year would be a big testing year for them, so all the teachers were constantly pushing exams and quizzes on them the last couple of weeks. Peter flew through the test like normal and flipped the page over after he double checked the answers. He glanced up at the clock and saw there was about twenty minutes left of class. Peter sighed and started doodling on the back of his test.

Even though he had resolved himself not to think about it, MJ’s words kept bouncing around his head. She was right more right than she knew. Mr. Stark really let him down. Peter believed the billionaire when he caught up to him in Hell’s Kitchen all those months ago and lectured him on protecting himself. He believed him in the back of that Audi when he said he couldn’t send Peter out into the street in a onesie because he got shot at. He believed him when he showed up at the teen’s apartment and told him he wanted to help him be better.

Peter believed a lot of things Mr. Stark said.

Now a piece of him wished he never met the guy.

Peter glanced back up at the clock and frowned when he saw only five minutes had passed. He eyed the door. Maybe he could take five and walk down the hallway to clear his head. He quietly went to the front of the room with his test, whispered to Ms. Warren he was done and asked if he could go to the restroom. She nodded to her hall pass—a green, feathered hat that reminded the kids of Robin Hood or Peter Pan—allowing him to leave. Peter grabbed it on his way out the door.

As he slowly meandered down the hallway, he saw Liz hanging up a poster for Homecoming. He quickly moved the stupid hat behind his back.

“Hey Liz,” he said. She looked up and smiled at him.

“Hi Peter,” she said, brushing her hands against her skirt. Peter felt a little flutter in his chest at the action. “What are you doing out of class?” she asked.

Peter shrugged. “Nothing—I mean, I guess I’m supposed to go to the bathroom.” Peter’s eyes widened. Oh God, did he actually just say that? “Not that anyone sent me there or anything—” he was making it worse, “—that is. Uh.” _Stop. Talking._ “I just said I needed to go to get out—not that I normally do that!”

Liz laughed and twisted her hair, pulling it back over her shoulder. “Don’t worry Peter. We’ve all gotten bored in class. It’s not a crime. Ms. Warren probably knows you’re taking a mini-break.”

“Aw man,” he said, dropping his hand clutching the stupid hat from behind his back. “I thought you hadn’t seen this thing.”

“Oh, well I didn’t until now,” she said with a little laugh.

“Then how’d you know it was her class?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Liz’s eyes widened a little, and Peter was positive her face was darkening. He felt heat creeping up his neck. Had _he_ made her blush?

“Uh, well—” she stammered. “I happen to know your schedule. For Decathlon,” she quickly amended, straightening up. The blush was still there.

Peter grinned and glanced over at the poster. “I suppose you’ve got a date to the dance tonight. I heard Harry asked you,” he said, nodding at it.

Liz shrugged and shook her head shyly. “He did, but I said no. He’s such a jerk sometimes, you know?”

“Oh,” Peter said, swallowing nervously. “So, who’s taking you?”

Liz smiled at him. “You know, it’s crazy,” she said, twisting her hair again, “but I was so busy planning the dance that I guess I just didn’t have time to find a date.”

Peter glanced from her face to her shoulder, thinking of Aaron’s advice about women.

_Peter carefully lifted his hand and dropped it on her shoulder, smiling a little at her._

_“Hey,” he said, quirking his eyebrow and speaking in a low voice._

_Liz burst out laughing at him. “Oh my God, what are you doing?”_

_Nope,_ Peter thought, shaking himself. _Absolutely not._

“Well,” he asked, resolving himself a little. MJ was the smartest girl he knew and had been saying for weeks Liz liked him. He had to trust she was right about this. “Do you maybe want to go with me?” he took a careful breath and held it.

Liz grinned. Peter smiled nervously along with her. Something about her smile made the fluttering in his stomach and chest increase in a pleasant way.

“I’d love to,” she said.

“Really?” Peter asked, grinning hugely. Liz nodded again.

“Yeah, you can pick me up at like, seven-ish,” she said. Peter’s smile faltered a little. Hers went down right along with his. “Or earlier,” she offered. “Or later! I mean—”

“I can’t—” Peter cleared his throat. “I can’t drive yet. I don’t turn 16 until April, and I don’t even have my learner’s permit,” he chuckled nervously.

“That’s okay, Peter. I’m almost 18 and I still don’t have mine.” Peter raised his eyebrows in surprise. She shrugged. “We live in New York. I’m gonna go to college in New York. I don’t have to learn yet. Why add the stress?”

Peter nodded. Those were the exact arguments he made to May when she took him to parking lots to get extra practice. “That makes sense,” he said. “I bet May can take us, I mean—if that’s not weird—”

“You know, my Dad has been harping on me about wanting to meet my friends and spend time with them” Liz said, thoughtfully. “What if your aunt brings you to my house so she and my folks can get pictures, and then my dad can drive us?”

“Okay,” Peter said. “Do you—do you think he’ll like me? Do I have to like—worry about anything?”

Liz laughed outright at that. “Peter, he’ll think your harmless. He’ll probably try to spook you for fun, then he’ll be all laughs and shoulder slaps. It’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Peter grinned. He looked back over his shoulder towards the classroom. “I should probably get back,” he said. They had been talking for a few minutes now, and he didn’t want to get in trouble. “But I’ll see you tonight!”

“Yeah, Peter, see you later,” she called as he jogged back to his class.

Peter felt like he was on a cloud the rest of the day. He asked Liz Allan to Homecoming, and she said yes! He couldn’t believe it. Ned couldn’t believe it, either. The pair of them gabbed about constantly, much to MJ’s annoyance. Or amusement. It was hard to tell sometimes.

“Hey, you never told me if you’re bringing anyone,” Peter said to Ned at lunch after the three claimed their usual table. Peter had grabbed some plastic forks and unwrapped the cinnamon roll for them to share. Ned was ecstatic. MJ rolled her eyes at his enthusiasm, but was quick to get some for herself. Liz waved at Peter from a couple of tables away. He smiled nervously and waved back, and Liz turned to her friends, saying something excitedly to them.

“Well, technically me and MJ are going together,” Ned said smoothly. MJ raised an eyebrow and he shrank a little. “As friends,” he added quickly.

“We’re not going together,” MJ said. “We’re each going stag. We just happen to be spending time together and bought a couple’s ticket because they’re cheaper.”

“Yeah,” Ned chuckled, shaking his head. “Pretty much that. It works out. Means I can keep my eye out for the ladies whose dates suck.”

“Oh,” Peter said, chuckling. “Are you doing that too, MJ?” MJ stared at him blankly. “Uh, I mean with dudes?” She raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe girls? You’ve never really been very forthcoming about that—” her eyebrow was still up. _Parker, you can’t talk today, why do you insist on trying?_ “Not that you need a guy or a girl. Because you know. You’re a fierce, independent woman and you don’t need a man or woman to have a good time. Because uh—societal pressures are stupid.” He grinned nervously at her.

MJ snorted. “You’re funny when you squirm, Parker,” she said, smirking at him. Peter rolled his eyes. MJ always got him.

“Ha ha,” he said. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out, surprised it was going off. He hoped May was okay. He frowned as he looked at the caller id. “Guys I’ll be right back,” he said, darting out of the cafeteria as he answered the call.

“Mr. Wesley?” he asked.

“Hello, Mr. Parker,” Mr. Wesley said. He sounded—well, if Peter had to label it, he would say Mr. Wesley sounded frustrated. “We need you to come in today, if possible.”

Peter winced. “Why?” he asked, nervously. “Do you need me to pick someone up?”

Mr. Wesley sighed heavily. “No, but—you must know you were on the news. The ferry incident?” Peter felt his heart jump to his throat. “We need to—what? One moment, Mr. Parker.” There was silence on the other end. Mr. Wesley must have muted his phone. Peter stood against the wall in the deserted hallway, anxiously tapping his foot.

He didn’t have to wait long, but he was surprised when a new voice came on the line.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Parker.”

Peter gulped, adjusting the collar of his shirt.

“Hello, Mr. Fisk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Writing Notes:  
> 1\. May is a good mom. I love May. Also, I learned how to make Matzo (Matzah?) ball soup! It looks delicious. Unfortunately, the meal has wheat, so I have yet to actually try it. There’s gluten free Matzo meal though… There’s a lot of food in this chapter. I was hungry when I was writing it, and missing my breadstuffs. Gluten free cinnamon rolls are *not* the same. 
> 
> 2\. I don’t know how testing in New York schools work. In my state, the big test years are (were, idk it’s been a while since I’ve been in public school) fourth grade, seventh grade, tenth grade, and eleventh/twelfth grade (depending on when you took your ACTs and SATs), and I lived through the era where your test scores were what got your school funding. The teachers were NUTS about it. The W. Bush years were… well… rough. Especially for people like me, who were terrible at taking tests. 
> 
> 3\. This was an actual hall pass a teacher of mine had. He would have made us wear it, but you know, lice was always a possibility. Actually, I think my favorite high school moment in Homecoming was Peter carrying that giant piece of wood that said, “Hall Pass.” It reminded me of all the goofy ones my teachers had. 
> 
> 4\. The whole date construct bothered me in high school. It bothers me now. Why are “couples tickets” always cheaper? You know what I mean. One for 20, two for 35? That deal? It’s like a slight against single people. “Oh, you don’t fit into our societal norm so you can just screw off, but you know, if you really want to go and ruin our aesthetic you can pay more money for yourself.” And of course with the dating/couples culture, it really makes you feel like this weird person if you’re single. I think that if I knew in high school what I know now, I wouldn’t have made some of the dumb choices I made regarding that. So here’s a PSA for the people reading this fic that you can take to heart or feel free to ignore. Go places with friends. Go places by yourself. YOU DO YOU. Don’t bring a date because that’s what’s “normal.” Bring a date because *you* want to. Okay. Sorry. Rant over. 
> 
> Please leave a comment or kudos letting me know what you thought. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you want to talk about my fics or send me prompts or just say hi, come visit [@hanuko](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Peter grinned outright and rang the bell, inspired by his aunt’s confidence. Tonight was going to be it. It was his night. He would be a gentleman, and treat Liz really well, and after the dance before her dad came to pick them up, he would ask her out to go to the Boardwalk in Coney Island—_
> 
> _The door opened and Peter felt the blood drain from his face. The man on the other side grinned, looking Peter up and down as if sizing him up. A sharp zing shot up his spine, warning him of danger._
> 
> _It was the guy with the wings._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hi! Good evening!
> 
> I'm sorry this was late, everyone. It was a busy weekend. I had a project I had to post on Valentine's Day, plus it was our (mine and the hubby's) anniversary, and I had a job interview to prepare for. 
> 
> Things were a little nuts. 
> 
> For those of you who like Spideypool, please go read [I'll Fix You With My Love.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22715821) It's my first, so I'd love to hear your thoughts if you're into the pairing. For everyone else, just ignore this little message. ;-)
> 
> Things should return to the regular posting schedule.
> 
> We're at the beginning of the end. Isn't that exciting?
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

“Mr. Parker, I must say I am quite disappointed.”

“Not half as disappointed as me,” Peter grumbled. His eyes widened. Now was not the time to snark. “I’m sorry, Mr. Fisk—”

“What happened?” the crime boss asked, bluntly. It was clear he was in no mood for Peter’s sarcasm.

Peter sighed. “I don’t know, Mr. Fisk. I just—okay so I interrogated Aaron as Spider-Man—”

“Mr. Davis?” Mr. Fisk asked, sharply.

Peter huffed. “Yes. Because I had no other leads. He was there—I told you both that he was the one making contact with those guys—”

“What Mr. Davis does outside of his duties to you during your internship is not your business, Mr. Parker. It’s _mine._ ”

“No, sir, I know, I just—” Peter worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to imply anything untoward,” he said, carefully. “I just meant that he was the only one that I saw that I could get ahold of. I figured since I couldn’t ask him as Peter that I could maybe ask him as Spider-Man.”

“And you didn’t think to contact myself or Mr. Wesley once you obtained your information? Surely you could have guessed that Mr. Davis was following my directions.”

Peter did guess that. “Mr. Fisk,” he said, apologetically, looking up and down the hall to make sure he wouldn’t be overheard. “I acted on the information I received like I normally do. I didn’t have time to call, I swear. I had to move as fast as I could to even catch the Ferry. Aaron even said something about his boss wanting him to check it out, and I thought he was talking about you.”

Mr. Fisk hummed thoughtfully, prompting Peter to continue.

“When I got there—well, okay I have to go back. A couple of days ago I figured out my suit has an AI,” Peter blundered on, not sure what would appease his employer. Mr. Fisk’s silence gave no signs, and Peter gave the story of what happened at the monument in as much detail as possible, including how he found out he was being recorded, but that Mr. Stark didn’t access anything as far as he knew. “So I used the suit’s enhancements to follow the wingsuit guy so I could take care of the guys who were actually dealing the weapons.”

“I see,” Mr. Fisk said, slowly, His volume didn’t change, and his tone was soft. Peter shivered. He was impossible to read when Peter had only his voice to go by. “Tell me about the FBI.”

Peter didn’t hesitate. Hesitation implied he was thinking of lying. “I didn’t know they would be there,” he spluttered. “I swear, they just pulled out their guns and pointed them at me, and the next thing I knew this Vulture guy is tearing apart the boat.”

“How did he escape?” Mr. Fisk asked.

Peter’s heart stuttered a little. “I-I-I didn’t have a choice, sir,” he said, pressing himself back into the wall. Good God, Peter wasn’t even in the _room_ with the man but he was still cowering—still making himself small and unthreatening—all because of the tone of that smokey, raspy voice on the other end. Peter could only hear his breathing. The teenager bit his lip, trying to calm his racing heart. “Sir—sir there were people on that boat—there were _children._ I couldn’t… I couldn’t go after the guy who flew away from me. I had to stay behind and try to keep the boat together until help could arrive.”

“You had to?”

“I didn’t have a choice!” he repeated.

“You will find in this line of work, Mr. Parker, you will _always_ have a choice,” Mr. Fisk said, voice smooth and supple. “It may not be a choice you would like to make, but it is a choice nevertheless—”

“Sir—”

“—and you chose to let that ridiculous annoyance get away instead of doing your utmost best to catch him!” Mr. Fisk ended with a shout. Peter’s lip quivered and he held his breath. He glanced at his watch. He could make it home in twenty minutes if he used his webs—he could make it home and tell May everything. She had the day off. They could pack the essentials and run, but Mr. Fisk might already have someone there. Oh no, what if he had someone near May right now, just waiting for his order?

“Please—sir, please I’m so sorry,” he whispered, absolutely terrified. The sudden noise of a crowd caught his attention and he turned his head, tensing even more when he saw Liz smiling at him as she shut the cafeteria door behind her. Peter swallowed and gave her a nervous smile, stepping away from her as she walked toward him. Her steps faltered and he tilted her head questioningly. Peter shrugged and gestured to his phone. Liz smiled and leaned against the wall, clearly indicating she would wait for him to finish his call.

“Why was Iron Man present?”

“He called the FBI,” Peter said, wincing that he let that out. “After he got there and started cleaning things up, he moved me out of the area, then he flew down to lecture me,” Peter couldn’t remove the bitterness from his tone, “about how I’m misusing his tech, and how my showing up ruined his perfect bust.”

“How did he even know they would be there?” Mr. Fisk asked, but now his voice was curious, and almost soothing. Peter growled in frustration, wishing—despite the danger—that he could just _see_ the man’s face.

“I have no clue!” He hissed, turning away from Liz’s gaze. “Mr. Fisk, I came, some FBI guys pointed guns at me, and the Vulture flew off! I don’t know what else you want me to say, and I’m mad about the whole thing okay! I’m mad about the weapons, I’m mad that the Vulture got away, I’m mad at Mr. Stark—”

“Why are you mad at Mr. Stark?” Mr. Fisk asked sharply. Peter pressed his lips together and took a slow careful breath through his nose.

“He took my suit,” he said, as evenly as possible. The wound was still fresh. “He—he didn’t like that I got involved with the Ferry. He said something about me not listening and took it back. I guess me keeping it was contingent on some rules I didn’t know about.”

“I see,” said Mr. Fisk. Peter listened to the quiet breathing on the other end and suddenly it was silent. He pulled the phone away from his ear. The call was still going. They had muted him again. He groaned and let his head fall back into the wall behind him, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. A giggle caught his attention and he straightened up, alarmed. Liz stood in the same spot, sporting a pretty smile. Peter sighed.

“Mr. Parker,” Mr. Fisk said sternly when he returned to the call, “you test my patience.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“I know you are,” Mr. Fisk said, softly. “I will allow this slip. I imagine you are still trying to piece things together after such a trying week. How are you coming along after losing your technology so suddenly?”

Peter shrugged, turning away from Liz again. “I’m making it work. Not like I needed that thing when I started out, right?”

“That’s true,” Mr. Fisk agreed. “Mr. Wesley was not wrong when he told me about you. I truly believe you are one of the most resourceful, clever young men I’ve come across.” Peter sighed in relief. “My mercy is not endless, Mr. Parker. I may find you endearing, but you are becoming a liability. Do not make the wrong choice again.”

“Yes sir,” Peter breathed, tension bleeding out of him. “Thank you, sir. It won’t happen again.”

“I can only hope,” Mr. Fisk chuckled. Peter chuckled nervously along with him. “Alright, Mr. Parker. I find this conversation satisfactory, for now. You will not need to come into the city.”

Peter huffed out a small laugh. “Oh good. I have a date tonight; it would suck to be called in.”

Mr. Fisk laughed. “Well, don’t let me keep you. Also, Aaron is working on something for me for the next week. He may have a lead on something for me, so he’ll be busy. On Monday, we’ll discuss rearranging your schedule. There are several gala’s and events I want you present for, anyway.”

“Alright, sir,” Peter said.

“It is seldom people like us get enjoy any sort of normalcy, Peter,” Mr. Fisk said.

“Mr. Fisk?” Peter asked, confused.

“Your date,” Mr. Fisk said, warmly. It was a complete flip from his attitude at the start of the call. “I hope you have fun.”

“T-thank you,” Peter stuttered.

“We’ll be in touch.”

The line went dead, and Peter let out a long, relieved breath. Mr. Fisk wasn’t about to go after May. It was a rude awakening. He trusted Mr. Stark, and where did it get him? In a panicked spiral over the safety of himself and his loved ones. He just had to keep following Mr. Fisk’s orders. As long as he did that, he and May would be safe. He could do that.

“That looked intense,” Liz said as he approached her. He shrugged.

“Work,” he said with a sigh. Liz smiled even bigger.

“So busy. No wonder you disappear all the time,” she said, raising her eyebrow at him.

“I do not,” Peter said, laughing to cover up his nerves. Did she notice when he would go off to be Spider-Man?

“Sure, okay,” Liz said. She pulled her hand out of her pocket, holding two pieces of black and blue cardstock in her hand. “I got our tickets.”

“Oh!” Peter exclaimed, digging in his pocket for his wallet. “I asked you—you didn’t have to—”

“Peter,” Liz said quickly. Peter looked up with wide eyes. “One of the perks to planning the dance is getting in for free. I wanted to catch you before you bought tickets for us.”

Peter laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh. Right.”

“I’ll see you around seven at my place?”

“Yeah,” Peter grinned. Liz winked at him before returning to the cafeteria. Peter stared after her dumbly before shaking himself. One thing was for sure. He wasn’t letting anything interrupt this date. He didn’t have any duties for the Kingpin, and he showed his alter-ego’s face in Queens, reminding baddies that they never knew when he would be there to stop crime. Also, he had a pretty terrible week. He could use a break.

Instead of going back to the cafeteria, he went back to his locker. He carefully looked around, then crouched down and pulled his bunched-up suit from his bag. After one more survey of the area, he picked up the lockers and shoved his suit in the space underneath that held refills of his webfluid he made in chemistry. He dropped the lockers and swung his bag back over his shoulder, making his way to his next class as the first lunch bell rang.

The rest of the afternoon went by at an agonizing pace. At some points, it felt like tons of time went by, but when Peter checked the clock it had only been a couple of minutes. At others, it seemed like time was standing still, and the next thing Peter knew, the bell was ringing. Between classes he managed to send a text to May, telling her that he asked a girl to Homecoming and could she please, please drive him to her house? She responded by asking what color dress Liz would wear. She didn’t even have to ask Peter who he was taking.

Liz giggled when he asked her and told him it was a pinkish red. He relayed the information to May who responded with a smiley face. After school as he made his way past his locker, he felt a twinge of guilt blip to life in his chest that he willed away. He would get right back to it on Monday. May was right. He was overworked. A weekend off would do him some good.

After he got home, May all but shoved him into the bathroom, where some new toiletries (including cologne) were sitting up on the bathroom counter. Peter took his second shower of the day (a little extra cleanliness never hurt anyone), then got groomed and dressed into one of his Armani suits. He carefully buttoned up the white silk shirt, then popped the onyx cufflinks (recently gifted to him by Mr. Wesley) into his sleeves. Finally he grabbed a tie that looked navy but gave deep red glints as he moved through the light. After carefully tying it into a Windsor knot he exited his room, waiting for May’s approval.

May was fussing over a couple of plastic containers on the counter, but she spun around when she heard his door click shut. She looked him up and down, pressing her hands against her mouth. Her eyes started to water, and Peter rolled his eyes.

“May,” he groaned, shifting embarrassedly.

“Oh stop!” she said, fanning her eyes. “You’re all grown up. Dressed up in a suit, taking girls to Homecoming. You know, you were a little boy not that long ago, Peter,” she said, coming over to him and wrapping him in a hug. He chuckled and hugged her back, pressing his face to her hair. He didn’t know how he would have gotten through the last two days without her.

She drew back with her hands on his shoulders, assessing him intently. “Alright, Pete,” she said, seriously. “What do you know about dancing?”

They spent the hour before they’d have to leave working on his moves, including brushing up his waltz skills that Ben had taught him a year before. May grabbed the containers from the fridge, pulling out a simple white rose to pin to his lapel. Peter nearly smacked his forehead. He didn’t even think of flowers.

“Here, let me just get this boutonniere straight,” May said, tongue between her teeth as she stabbed the flower securely in place. “Ta da! Now, I’m afraid they couldn’t do a wrist corsage, so we have one to pin to Liz’s dress,” May said, suggestively wiggling her eyebrows.

“What if I stab her?” Peter asked, mortified.

“We’ll call 911,” May said, unphased. “Come on, let’s get going!”

The sky was fully dark when they left their apartment in the city to drive out to the suburbs. On the way out, May forced a granola bar on him. Peter ate it gratefully. He was pretty sure the next time he would be able to eat would be after the dance. It didn’t matter. His nerves wouldn’t let him stomach much more than a granola bar anyway. Soon, they arrived at Liz’s house. May parked on the street and looked over at Peter, who was drumming his fingers nervously against his knees.

“What’s the plan?” she asked, calmly. He looked at her confident smile and felt one appearing on his own face.

“Open the door for her,” Peter began, letting out a careful breath. May nodded for him to continue. “Tell her she looks nice—but not too nice. Because that would be creepy.”

“Don’t want to be creepy,” May agreed, nodding solemnly.

“And… give her the corsage—don’t stab her with it—”

“That wouldn’t end well.”

“Right. Then… then take pictures and her dad will take us to the dance and when I dance with her, I’ll put my hands on her hips.” May nodded but didn’t say anything else. “Or maybe her waist.” May shrugged and nodded again. “May, what if she doesn’t want my hands on her at all?” Peter hissed.

May shrugged. “Be a gentleman and ask her where you can put them.” Peter’s mouth hung open at her bluntness. “Peter, a woman appreciates it when a man is respectful of her body. Asking is respectful. She’ll like it, and if she doesn’t and expects you to read her mind, then she’s not the right girl for you,” May said, sternly. Peter nodded and grabbed the corsage box.

“Okay,” he said, opening his door. May opened her own door and together they climbed the steps to the door, May holding Peter’s camera.

“Hey,” May said, rubbing his shoulder as they stopped in front of the door. Peter looked over at her and smiled at her warm expression. “You’ve got this.”

Peter grinned outright and rang the bell, inspired by his aunt’s confidence. Tonight was going to be it. It was his night. He would be a gentleman, and treat Liz really well, and after the dance before her dad came to pick them up, he would ask her out to go to the Boardwalk in Coney Island—

The door opened and Peter felt the blood drain from his face. The man on the other side grinned, looking Peter up and down as if sizing him up. A sharp zing shot up his spine, warning him of danger.

It was the guy with the wings.

The Vulture was Liz’s _dad._

“You must be Peter,” he said, holding out his hand. Peter offered his own and shook the guy’s hand firmly. “Good grip,” he said, grinning as he let go of his hand. “And the lovely lady with you?” he asked, winking at May.

May smiled at him, and Peter could tell she was resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “May Parker,” she said extending her hand. Liz’s dad shook it, chuckling.

“Adrian Toomes,” he said, grinning. “Come on in,” he said, gesturing for them to come inside. Toomes gently shut the door behind them, then led them down the darkened hallway towards his kitchen. Peter looked around, noticing how starkly different the house was without music or a bunch of high school students filling the space.

“Hi Peter, Mrs. Parker,” a voice said. Peter turned his head, alarmed, and May rubbed a soothing hand on his forearm. A very curvy woman with dark hair and warm brown eyes smiled at the pair. “You look very handsome,” she said, walking past them to her husband. May nudged him slightly with her elbow.

“Th-thank you, ma’am.”

Liz’s mom stood next to Toomes and leaned toward him. “Did you get his name right?” she mumbled, very quietly. May straightened up a little. She didn’t like it when people had whispered conversations around her.

“Freddy, right?” Toomes responded. Liz’s mom huffed and smacked his arm.

“I’ll go get Liz,” she said, walking past the pair again. “Then it’s picture time!”

“My favorite,” May said. Liz’s mom laughed and disappeared up the stairs. May shifted a little. “May I use your restroom?” she asked. Toomes nodded and gestured toward a nearby door. Peter shivered when it was just the two of them, watching as Liz’s dad picked up a sharp kitchen knife and started cleaning it.

Toomes cocked his head at him, studying him carefully. “You alright there, Pete?” Peter worked his hardest to keep his eyes on Toomes face instead of the knife he was waving around. “You look a bit pale,” he said, waving the knife over his own face. Peter blinked.

“No, I’m—I’m fine.”

Toomes frowned, setting down the knife. “Are you sure? Maybe you want something to drink like a bourbon or a scotch or something like that?”

Peter frowned and furrowed his eyebrows, shaking his head. He had tasted scotch with Mr. Wesley before when they were making a purchase for Mr. Fisk. He did not like it and did not intend to revisit it anytime soon. “No, I’m—I’m not allowed to drink, sir. I’m not old enough.”

Toomes grinned at him, smile a little too sharp and toothy for Peter’s liking. “That’s the right answer, he said as the sound of running water caught Peter’s attention. On the one hand, he couldn’t believe he brought his aunt to someone so dangerous, but on the other, he was really glad she was with him. Mr. Toomes had no idea who Peter was, anyway. He was just doing the dad thing, messing with him. May’s presence would probably end it. Peter figured if Toomes weren’t the Vulture, he’d probably be laughing with the guy’s absolutely terrifying jokes right now, even if it was out of nerves. Peter heard a door click open and footsteps approaching behind him. He figured it was May, until he saw Liz’s dad’s eyebrows go up.

“Wow,” he said, prompting Peter to turn around. Liz stood in the entryway, hand nervously smoothing down the waistline of her red dress. Peter felt his mouth fall open, seeing her. “Wow, wow, wow, you look _beautiful!_ ” A sudden click and flash pulled Peter’s attention toward the bathroom. May stood in front of the now closed door, aiming his camera at them to catch their reactions.

“Dad,” Liz said, nervously, “please don’t embarrass me,” she grinned as she approached Peter, who was still holding the corsage in his hands. May came closer, taking another picture.

“You have the right idea,” Liz’s mom said, going to grab her own camera.

“May,” Peter muttered, distracted by May’s erratic picture snapping.

“Hush,” she said. “I’m all _verklempt_.” Peter nearly groaned at her behavior. He didn’t know what to do. His spider-sense was humming quietly, whispering _danger, get out, danger_ in his head. May and Liz’s mom were both armed with cameras, taking candid shots of their kids going to a dance, and Liz stood beside Peter, twisting nervously.

“Is that a corsage?” she asked, drawing his attention. Peter looked down at the box and almost handed it to her before he remembered he was supposed to pin it to her dress.

“Uh,” he swallowed nervously. “Y-yeah. Yes. Yeah. Would you—I mean, can I—would you like me to put it on?” he offered. Liz beamed at him and nodded. Peter heard Toomes chuckle behind him as both the women to the side cooed at him. _Ugh._ Peter carefully removed the flower from the box, then looked to the side to see where he could set it down when it was quickly pulled from his hand. Peter startled at the sudden proximity of the Vulture, who was staring down at him with an interesting glint in his eye.

“I’ve got this, Pedro,” he said, smiling. Peter contained his shudder and smiled back, turning back to Liz who was holding out her wrist expectantly.

Peter looked between the flower and her wrist, trying to organize his thoughts. “Oh,” he said, laughing nervously. “It—it’s supposed to go on your dress,” he said, gesturing toward her neckline. Liz giggled and lowered her wrist, stepping closer to him. Peter nervously pulled the pin from the flower, carefully attaching it to her dress.

“Oh, _bambino. Cuore Mio_ , you’re so grown up,” May said, taking more pictures. 

“May,” Peter hissed, embarrassed. “Can you please take a break from pictures?”

“And go to the synagogue empty handed?” she tutted.

“But—”

“I’m not allowed to show you off?” she asked, hands on her hips. Peter was torn between embarrassment and laughter. “I’m sure Rabbi Goldman would love to see, too. I’m gonna show him after Temple.”

“Oh, I know what you mean,” Liz’s mom said, grinning. “I’m showing all the girls at church. It’s been forever since Lizzy had a date.”

“Mom!” Liz said, eyes widening in embarrassment.

“Ain’t nothing wrong with waiting for the right one, honey,” she said, laughing with May.

Scratch that, they were cackling.

Peter was losing his God damn mind. May was taking photos of him. Liz was standing next to him, just as mortified at her parent’s behavior as he was at his. Mr. Toomes, or Liz’s dad, or the Vulture—whoever he was, was just quietly chuckling at the antics of the two women in his kitchen like this was _normal._

It _was_ normal. That was the most insane part. This was a _normal_ way for kids to go to dances. The fact that Toomes was this crazy, high-tech, weapons dealer made no difference. If Peter wasn’t Spider-man—hell, if Peter hadn’t _seen_ him on the ferry—this would not be setting him off at all. Sure, maybe his spider-sense would go off, but he’d chalk that up to Mr. Toomes being worried about his daughter. After they actually posed for some pictures, Peter managed to escape to the living room area to catch his breath, grabbing his camera from May on his way out, declaring her a menace to teenagers everywhere. Peter pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to calm down as he sat on a carpeted step.

“That was a little extra, huh?” Peter spun around, seeing Liz twisting nervously behind him, her hands behind her back. She gestured behind her toward the kitchen that held their chatting parents. “Them. You know. Being parents.”

Peter shrugged. “It’s not—it’s not that bad.” Liz walked up to him and sat beside him, smoothing the skirt of her dress. Peter took a second to actually look at her, now that the commotion had stopped. The dark rouge coloring set against her skin very nicely, and the length showed off her legs. Her dark hair fell in pretty tendrils over her shoulders, and sitting this close, Peter could see that though her make up was simple. She was wearing something that shined on her cheekbones and glittered on her eyelids in the low, warm lighting of the stairwell.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “What?”

Peter shrugged and could feel himself blushing, trying to push it down. “You’re really pretty,” he said, stuttering a little.

Liz grinned and looked at her lap, twisting her fingers together. “Thanks.” She nodded at the camera in his hand. “Want to take a selfie?”

Peter laughed, and leaned next to her, holding his camera up. After some careful consideration and readjusting the way the camera was pointed, he took the picture, then flipped the camera around to see how the picture turned out. The flash was a bit too bright, but other than that, it wasn’t half bad.

“Peter,” Liz said, tracing her finger down the screen that displayed their faces, “I’d really like to see your photos sometime, if you’ll let me.”

“Why?” Peter asked. “I honestly only have a couple of Spider-Man and Daredevil. I really haven’t gotten much opportunity to get photos of them, or any of the other superheroes, so—”

Liz put a hand on his knee, cutting off his rambling. “Because you’re talented.” There was no quelling his blush there. He laughed and shook his head, waving her off. “I’m serious,” she said, sternly. Her eyes lit up as she stared him down. “I only saw the Spider-Man photos for a minute, but I saw all the photos you scrolled through to get to them. The cityscape of Forest Hills you took at sunset was beautiful. And you got a picture of the churro lady while she’s smiling. I don’t think I’ve _ever_ seen her smile.” Peter swallowed and looked down at the camera in his hands. “Don’t sell yourself short just because it’s not something we normally credit you for. You can be good at science and good at art, too. Look at Michelle.” Peter raised his eyebrows and Liz shrugged. “She’s so smart. You know she’s a straight-A student in all her subjects, but she’s _amazing_ at drawing—I think she should broaden her portfolio and enter some local shows and competitions. Something is holding her back, though.”

Peter frowned, thinking about his friend. He pretty much only saw her with a sketchbook. It didn’t seem like something that was on the downlow. “She’s always drawing. I don’t think she’s like, hiding her talents—”

“I’m saying she should show them off. I think she’s scared to show them to other people like her.”

Peter scoffed. “MJ’s not scared of anything,” he said, without even thinking.

Liz frowned at him and shrugged. “Everyone is scared of something, Peter.” Peter swallowed and craned his head around. The adults were still talking away in the kitchen, laughing.

“I guess. I didn’t really think of that,” he offered.

“Well, you’re her friend,” she said, clearing her throat. “Right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Peter said. It was obvious they were friends.

“Well, you’re gonna see her a different way than she lets others see her. I usually only ever see Michelle with a book or taking notes. I only know she draws because—” Liz cleared her throat again, looking away nervously, “—well, you and her always hang out together.”

“Yeah,” Peter said slowly. “Because we’re friends.”

“I know that,” Liz said, laughing nervously. “I know that, but that means she trusts you enough to share things with you she won’t share with anyone else. I’ve seen her drawing, but she’s never shown many people what she’s drawing. Just you, Ned, and a couple of teachers.”

“Huh,” Peter hadn’t realized how private MJ was with her sketches.

“It’s not unreasonable to think it’s because she’s scared, at least a little bit,” Liz concluded. “No one is completely fearless.”

“What are you scared of?” he asked. He watched the way her eyebrows furrowed. Her mouth opened and closed as she struggled to respond to his question. “Hey, it’s no big deal,” he said, waving his hands a little. “You don’t have to tell me. It was weird to even ask.”

“No,” she said, shaking herself a little. “I just don’t think anyone has asked me.” She frowned, looking back in the kitchen. “I think I’m scared of disappointing them,” she whispered, tilting her head towards the kitchen. Peter frowned. “Dad works so hard, and he does it for me and Mom, you know? He built his company, and he never joins any of the businessman breakfasts, or local meetings for the chamber or anything like that. He never brags about his work or how successful he’s become. Dad just—does it. He just works. When he’s snagged a really good job, he comes home and tells me another year’s college tuition is secured, or asks me if I want dancing lessons, or tells me whatever venue I want for my wedding is paid for.”

She frowned, looking at Peter before she continued. “I mean, I know most people don’t live that way, and I shouldn’t worry about my future because he’s secured it. But what if the future I want isn’t the one he wants for me, you know? That’s—that’s something I’m scared of.”

Peter nodded thoughtfully before glancing back to the kitchen.

“He sounds like a good dad,” he offered, “but I can see why there’s a lot of pressure there.”

“I’m worrying over nothing,” Liz said, shaking herself. “He’s always stunned by the study plans I’ve made for myself. He keeps telling me to slow down. It doesn’t all have to be planned out.” Liz gazed at him and smiled. “Enough about me. Your turn. What are you scared of, Peter?”

Peter paled and looked to his knees. What was he scared of? The list was extensive and seemed to grow by the day. He was freaked out about his future. He was afraid of being a burden on people. He didn’t like heights. He hated guns. He was scared of saying the wrong thing all the time. He had been left so many times (not on purpose, never on purpose) by the people who loved him that he was terrified. When he really thought of what he was scared of, it made him nauseous.

“Being alone,” he whispered shrugging.

“What?”

“I’m—I’m scared of being left alone, Liz,” he said, apologetically. “I—I’ve seen some things, you know? I just—I think I’m scared all the time. I just—I mean, you have to keep going, right? Even though bad things happen?”

Liz frowned at him and wrapped his shoulders in a hug, causing him to huff out a laugh. Peter noticed a flash out of the corner of his eye as they pulled apart.

“Send me that,” May said, smirking at them as the two teenagers stood up. “You have my email, no excuses.”

“Come on kids, let’s get going,” Mr. Toomes said, grabbing his keys. Peter sighed and handed his camera back to May before hugging her goodbye.

“You have fun, okay sweetie?” she whispered, smoothing the back of his hair.

Peter smiled into her hair, trying to hide his nerves. He didn’t know what to do. At this point, he didn’t even have his suit, though. As long as Liz’s dad didn’t figure out who he was, he’d be fine. He’d figure out the rest of it after the dance, when he was back to being Spider-Man.

“Love you, May,” he whispered back as he pulled away from her. He followed Liz and her dad out of the house and to his car.

Mr. Toomes may have the best motivations for doing what he did, but he was still a criminal. He still hurt people, and helped other people commit all sorts of crimes with the weapons he sold. He was a threat to the things Peter cherished and refused to lose. He was a bad guy. He made his choices, and there were consequences for his actions.

Peter thought of May’s warm arms and the smell of her hair as he closed the door for Liz and climbed in on the other side after her. As the car pulled out of the driveway, he thought of how terrified he was of losing her.

If the Kingpin wanted Adrian Toomes bound up and served on a platter, he wouldn’t hesitate to deliver, even for a moment.

Peter refused to lose anyone else. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Writing Notes:  
> 1\. Oof, Peter, do you hear yourself? Do you hear your language changes? Do you hear your choice of words when you talk to these guys? No. No he does not. But *I* do. 
> 
> 2\. Ah, the awkward, parent-photo meet n' greet. Always fun. 
> 
> 3\. Fisk as Darth Vader: "Peter... join me, and I will complete your training. With our combined strength, we can end this destructive conflict and bring order to NYC."  
> Peter: I'll never join you!   
> Peter: ...  
> Peter: ... but continue.   
> Fisk: I AM YOUR FATHER-FIGURE!!!!  
> Peter: No... No. That's not true. That's impossible!  
> Fisk: Search your feelings, you know it to be true.   
> Peter: NOOOOOO--actually, I can see it. What do you need done, Pops?
> 
> Anyone else getting that vibe?
> 
> 4\. Go see Birds of Prey. Just do it. It was good. And has NOTHING to do with the story, but seriously. Go see it. 
> 
> This was silly. I really don't have much to say about this chapter. If anyone has questions, comments, or concerns, please feel free to comment below, or come say hi to [hanuko](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!
> 
> Thanks for reading, please let me know what you thought in the comments, and leave a Kudos if you were entertained!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Peter stared at him, eyes widening in realization. “Ned. That crystal—the one that blew up? Do you think—do you think it was like, alien tech or something that the Avengers would hold onto?”_
> 
> _Ned’s eyebrows practically disappeared into his hairline. “No—no way.”_
> 
> _MJ nodded along in understanding. “What if the Tower is full of alien tech? What if Liz’s dad has been using that to build his weapons?” she asked._
> 
> _“Then the stuff from the tower would be like, the ultimate jackpot,” Ned concluded._
> 
> _“Guys, I have to stop him!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> First of all, this is _early._
> 
> What? No. Really? 
> 
> Yes. For me at least. It's still Saturday, yo.
> 
> Not only that, but this will be a **double update.**
> 
> I went on a bit of a spree. :-) The next chapter will be out sometime tomorrow. 
> 
> So, I had to make a minor change in chapter 17 for some of the upcoming stuff (including stuff in this chapter) to make sense. Because you know, I was writing along my merry way, looking backward and forward, and then I realized I forgot to add something important. So when I forgot to add this important thing, I had to rework all my upcoming stuff so it will still make sense. You can go re-read it, if you like. But I'll sum it up in my end notes if you'd rather read it there. 
> 
> My feelings on the whole thing can be summed up [ here.](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/post/190946934948/okay-ive-got-a-solution-which-involves-much)
> 
> Enjoy!

Peter felt a sense of foreboding hovering over him during the drive between Liz’s house and Midtown. His heart was beating just a touch too fast, and his throat felt tight, like there was something blocking it. He had to work at keeping his breathing even, because he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. He focused on Liz and the things she was showing him on her phone, pretending that there wasn’t some psycho weapons dealer just driving them on their merry way, chatting about how he was going out of town for the weekend and was glad he could spend a little time with his daughter before he did so.

It was unnerving.

“Look, isn’t this cute?” Liz asked, showing him a picture of a kitten.

Peter chuckled. “Yeah. Hey, did you see the one of the wolf pup?”

“No!” Liz said, handing him her phone. He quickly pulled up a video on YouTube of a little wolf who was first learning to howl. “Oh my God!” Liz breathed. “He’s adorable, oh my God!”

“They start to learn how to howl around three or four weeks, so they can communicate with the rest of the pack,” Peter said softly.

“I bet he’s going to be a little alpha,” Liz cooed.

“Actually, that’s a myth,” Peter said.

“What is?”

“The whole ‘alpha wolf’ thing. It’s a myth. The research used to establish the theory was based captive wolf packs. Wolves in the wild behave very differently. Packs act like family. There isn’t really a male in charge. Typically it’s a male and a female that dominate the pack, but it’s because they’re the parents,” Peter said, shifting a little in his seat. Liz stared at him with raised eyebrows. “The scientist who originally came up with the theory debunked it after observing them in their natural habitat.”

Toomes let out a low whistle from the driver’s seat. “Wow, Pete. How many random facts do you have stored in that head of yours?” Peter blushed.

“Peter’s really smart, Dad,” Liz said, smiling. “Smartest guy I know.”

Peter chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. “Come on,” he said. “I just remember stuff. It’s mostly useless anyway.”

“One day,” Liz said, putting a hand on his knee, “I’ll convince you.”

“Didn’t seem like a useless fact to me,” Toomes said, glancing at them through the rearview mirror. “If you ever want to work with wolves, or do the naturalist thing or the zoo thing or whatever, that seems like important knowledge to have”

Peter shrugged. “If you say so, sir.”

“So Pete, what are you gonna do with that big brain of yours?” he asked as they came into the heavier traffic of the city.

Peter shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

“Nah,” Toomes responded. “You kids at that school, you have it all planned out, don’t you?”

“Well, I’m only a sophomore, so it’s not really important. I’ve been thinking about chemical engineering, but that’s just because the subject is interesting.”

“Peter has an internship with Wilson Fisk,” Liz chimed in, her attention back on her phone.

“The guy in the white suit?” Toomes asked, surprise coloring his tone.

“Yeah—yeah him,” Peter said, smiling nervously.

“What’s it like to intern for him?” Toomes asked.

“Stressful,” Peter said, without thinking. Liz and her dad both chuckled.

“Well there are perks to going to Manhattan all the time,” Liz said. “Peter has a photo of Spider-Man.”

“Spider-Man?” Toomes asked, glancing back at them again.

“Yeah, he met him once.”

“Really,” Toomes said, his interest clearly piqued.

“I wouldn’t say I met him,” Peter said nervously.

“Yes you did. You said he swung you to safety during his fight with the Daredevil,” Liz said.

“He put me on a rafter and put me back down on the ground, Liz. It wasn’t like we actually _met_ , you know?”

“What’s he like?” Toomes asked. They were really close to the school, and traffic had gotten pretty rough because of all the kids going to the school. He could have sworn they just passed Cindy and Abe.

“Uh,” Peter stammered. “I guess he’s okay. Seems like a solid dude. Nice man.”

“Well, that’s just one picture. He also got to meet Tony Stark,” Liz said, smiling.

“You did?” Toomes was weirdly interested in Peter’s life. Maybe that was just how he was with all the boys who tried to date his daughter.

“Yeah,” Peter said, shrugging. “At a gala for Mr. Fisk.”

“Huh,” he said, thoughtfully. “Hey, do I know you from somewhere?”

“N-no,” Peter’s heart started racing.

“Really? Because even your voice sounds familiar—”

“Peter does Decathlon with me, Dad,” Liz said.

“Ah,” Toomes said, nodding.

“And he was at my party last week.”

“Yeah,” Peter chimed in. “That was a great party.”

“How would you know?” Liz scoffed. “You disappeared right after you got there.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did,” Liz said, narrowing her eyes. “You disappeared, just like you always do.”

“I don’t always disappear.”

“Yes you do, Peter. I half-expected you to disappear in Washington, too.”

The quiet buzzing of Peter’s spider-sense flared sharply and he looked up to see Toomes staring at him through the rearview mirror. The car had come to a stop at a traffic light.

“That must have been scary, being in that elevator,” he said, quietly.

Peter drew in a careful breath. “Actually,” he said, glancing at Liz, “I saw it from the ground.”

“Good thing your old pal Spider-Man showed up.”

“Yeah. It was good he was there that day,” Peter replied as evenly as he could.

“Good old Spider-Man.” The light turned green, but Toomes kept staring at Peter in the rearview. Peter swallowed nervously. He didn’t—he _couldn’t_ know.

Could he?

A horn beeped, causing Liz to look up. “Dad,” she said, “the light?”

For the rest of the drive, Toomes was silent. Liz would periodically show Peter something on her phone, but he was too anxious to really invest in it. Before he knew it, they were in front of the school. Liz opened her door and started to slide out. Peter reached for his door handle but stopped when Toomes started speaking.

“You go on in, gumdrop,” he said, sweetly. “I’m just gonna give Peter the ‘dad’ talk, okay?”

Liz rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Fine, Dad. Don’t let him scare you,” she said, winking at Peter. She shut the door behind her and ran up the steps to a couple of her friends. After she got past the double doors, Toomes opened his glove box and pulled out a black handgun.

Peter knew from experience how loud a gunshot sounded. But as far away as they were from the building—a building that was blasting music—he knew that if Toomes decided to shoot him here and now, no one would hear a thing.

“Does she know,” Toomes asked, turning to face him.

“Know what?” Peter asked, putting on a confused expression, eyes darting between the gun and Toomes nervously.

Toomes nodded, smirking a bit. “So she doesn’t,” he said. Peter felt the smile slip from his face. “Good. Close to the vest. I admire that.” Peter leaned back slightly, fingers moving toward the door handle slowly. “I’ve got a few secrets of my own. Of all the reasons I didn’t want my daughter to date,” he chuckled. He looked at Peter’s hand. “Door’s locked, kid. It won’t disengage until I press a button up here. Unless you want to rip the door off the hinges and cause a scene?”

Peter’s hand dropped into his lap. He stared at Toomes head on, pushing down his anxiety.

“Peter, nothing is more important than family,” Toomes said, seriously. “You saved my daughter’s life, and I could never forget something like that, so I’m gonna give you one chance. Are you ready?” he asked, with a raised brow. Peter nodded. “Walk through those doors and we forget any of this happened. Oh, and don’t you ever, _ever_ interfere with my business again. ‘Cause if you do, I’ll kill you. I’ll kill your aunt. I’ll kill everyone you love.”

Peter swallowed against a lump in his throat. At least this wasn’t news. Peter was tangoing with this threat for nearly a year now, with a much bigger fish. He carefully pulled his phone from his pocket and dropped it to the floor, glad he left it on silent after school.

“I’ll kill you dead. That’s what I’ll do to protect my family,” Toomes continued. “Do you understand?”

Peter blinked and let out a slow breath, nodding in confirmation. _Yeah. I understand,_ he thought. _I understand there’s no redeeming you._

“Hey,” Toomes said, smiling. “I just saved your life. What do you say?”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “Thank you, sir.”

Toomes grinned at him. “You’re welcome. Now,” he said, pressing the button to undo what Peter assumed to be the child lock, “you go in there, and show my daughter a good time. Just not too good,” he winked. Peter stared at him blankly. “What are you waiting for? I’ve got to get going. It’s moving day,” he chuckled, waving Peter off. Peter opened the door and stepped out of the car, then watched it as it pulled away. Toomes gave a mocking wave as he drove off.

Peter shivered. Had that really just happened?

_He can’t be allowed to do—whatever he’s about to do,_ Peter thought as he entered the school and made his way toward the gym. _He just can’t. Mr. Fisk would have my head if I let him get away, and who knows what kind of damage he’s about to do?_

Peter slowly pulled open the doors, letting the noise wash over him for a moment. He looked around and saw Ned and MJ dancing, and MJ actually smiled at him before flipping him off. Peter turned and saw Liz talking with a couple of friends. She caught sight of him and waved him over.

“Hey,” she said, grinning. Her smile faltered as she took in his expression. “What did he say to you?” she asked.

Peter stared at her for a moment. “Liz,” he began, stepping closer to her. “Your dad is insane.”

Liz laughed. “Come on, Peter, it wasn’t that bad—”

“No he—you know what, never mind,” he said shaking his head. “I can’t—look he just scared the crap out of me.”

“What?” she asked, frowning.

“And maybe he was messing around, but he sure didn’t seem like it. I—look, I gotta go,” he said, stepping back.

“What, Peter why?” Liz asked, eyes wide.

“Tell me, did you know he keeps a _handgun_ in the _glove compartment_?” he asked, flatly. Liz blinked in surprise.

“How did you know that?” she asked, biting her lip.

Peter shook his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t be here, okay? I’m sorry,” he said, bolting off.

He shouldn’t have told her. That was strictly Spider-Man business. But maybe if she had an inkling to what a psychopath her dad was, she’d be a little more forgiving of what Spider-Man was about to do. Peter ran out of the gym straight to his locker, glanced both ways, and hauled the row up, grabbing his suit and the extra web cartridges stored beneath. Then he ran to a nearby restroom and threw on his suit and mask. After a moment’s hesitation, he left the Armani suit tucked in a vent above the toilets, figuring he’d get a chance to recover it during the school week. Worst case scenario, Mr. Fisk could get him a new one. Peter was pretty sure the cost would be worth it when he finally got Toomes delivered.

Finally he escaped the building through a side exit. As he tried to lock his webshooters around his wrist, he felt a sharp electric pulse shoot through him _through his face_ and throw him to the ground.

“What—”

“Chose wrong, kid,” Baldy said, emerging between two busses. Baldy eyed him as Peter tried to regain his senses. “What’s with crappy costume?” Baldy scoffed. Peter glanced at his wrist and realized he never managed to latch his webshooters. He looked up and saw them lying useless on the ground several feet away from him. Peter picked himself up and darted toward them, noticing a sharp buzzing going up his spine. He heard a metallic crash next to him.

_Stupid spider-sense,_ he thought. _I already know I’m in trouble._

As soon as he reached his webshooters, a bus collided with him and knocked him into another one. He impacted so hard, the glass of the windows shattered.

_Oh._

“I wasn’t sure about this thing at first,” he heard Baldy say as he started getting up again. “But _damn_.” As soon as Peter was up he was knocked back again, this time through the windshield of a bus. He flew along the aisle until his back smashed against the rear emergency door of the bus, then slid down to the floor.

He blinked a little and turned his head to the side, trying to shake the spots out of his vision. Getting punched was bad enough, but getting punched with electricity? It was a whole new level of _ow._ Peter stared blearily at a dark square in his line of sight until it came into focus, then he regretted choosing that—the bottom of a bus seat—to be his focal point. “Ugh,” he groaned, twisting his face in disgust. All along the bottom of the seat were globs of old, chewed up gum—some of which still appeared to be moist. “ _Gross_.”

Suddenly the bus lifted off the ground and started spinning in the air. Peter was tossed around the bus like a bingo ball in a bingo cage. His was shaken so much he thought his teeth were rattling in his skull. When the bus finally stopped moving, he tumbled out of the rear door, falling to the ground. Peter saw thick black boots coming around the corner of the bus and he started crawling away, trying to regain his bearings.

“Why did he even send you here?” Peter asked, trying to shake himself out of it.

“Guess you’ll never know,” Baldy responded, charging up the electric knuckles. Peter braced himself for impact, closing his eyes. After a moment he realized nothing was happening, and he quickly opened his eyes to see what Baldy was doing.

Baldy’s fist was in the air and he stared at it, confused. Peter’s eyes caught the sight of—wait, that was his webbing! He followed the thread to see Ned, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, holding Peter’s webshooter in his hand. MJ had the other one in hers, aimed at Baldy, a menacing scowl on her face. Peter felt a grin overtake his face.

“Nice shot!” he shouted, kicking his leg up and pulling the webbing—and the electric fist—toward the ground. Baldy stumbled from the sudden movement and Peter pulled his own webshooter toward himself. Ned let go and the webshooter flew toward him but as soon as he caught it, another web shot out, and there was a dull metallic thud behind him. He turned to see Baldy glued to the side of a bus. MJ stared at the crook, her lower lip trembling, webshooter steady in her hand. “Oh, wow, MJ! Ned! You guys are amazing!” Peter said, running toward them.

“Aw,” Ned said, scuffing his toe on the ground. Peter’s face fell when he remembered what he came out there to do.

"Ned!" Peter exclaimed, grabbing his friend by the shoulders. MJ held out Peter’s webshooter, but he ignored it for the time being. "The guy with the wings is Liz's dad!"  
  


"What?"  
  


Peter let go and grabbed his second webshooter from MJ, latching it around his wrist. "I need my guy in the chair, okay? I need you to activate the tracker in my phone."

  
"Y-yeah but... But where is it?"  
  


"In his car, Ned. Something big is going on."

“What’s even happening? Why do you need to go after him right now?” MJ asked. “You know where he lives.”

“He’s about to do something bad, I’m sure of it!” Peter exclaimed. “Otherwise, why would he keep Baldy around to watch out for me? He doesn’t want me tailing him for a reason.”

“Let’s think it through logically, then,” MJ said in an even voice. “You can’t just go running off without having any idea what he’s doing or what you’re gonna have to face.”

“But I don’t know, MJ! I don’t—he had a gun in the car, and he said something about moving day—”

“Oh, snap,” Ned said, mouth falling open. Peter and MJ looked at him and Peter gestured for him to go on. “ _Moving day._ Today is the day Mr. Stark’s tower is going to be officially put up for sale. All the Avengers stuff in there is going upstate.”

“What?” Peter asked, brow furrowed.

“Yeah,” Ned continued. “It’s been on the news. About a month ago, when Tony Stark and Pepper Potts had that press conference where they announced they were back together, he said they were officially selling the tower and moving everything to the compound. This was the date. They’re loading everything on one of Mr. Stark’s stealth planes tonight.”

Peter stared at him, eyes widening in realization. “Ned. That crystal—the one that blew up? Do you think—do you think it was like, alien tech or something that the Avengers would hold onto?”

Ned’s eyebrows practically disappeared into his hairline. “No—no way.”

MJ nodded along in understanding. “What if the Tower is full of alien tech? What if Liz’s dad has been using that to build his weapons?” she asked.

“Then the stuff from the tower would be like, the ultimate jackpot,” Ned concluded.

“Guys, I have to stop him!” Peter shouted, throwing his arms up in frustration.  
  


"Peter," MJ said, steeling herself. "You can't go after him alone. If his lackey can do this sort of damage," she gestured toward the mess in the bus barn behind him, "who knows what Mr. Toomes can do."  
  


Peter nodded. "You're right... Okay. MJ, give me your phone." MJ unlocked it and handed it over, and Peter added two new contacts. "Guys, you need to call Happy first. He works for Iron Man." Peter didn't care how badly things went down between them. At the end of the day, Mr. Stark took those weapons seriously, and he was a hero. He wouldn’t let Toomes get away with—whatever he was up to. Peter could use his help.

"If that doesn't work—” Peter hesitated, unsure how to describe his weird relationship with Daredevil. "Uh. This second number is for my friend Mike. He knows this business and has been helping me out. You tell him Spidey needs help and fill him in, then give him Happy’s number."

"Peter—” Ned said, watching Peter hand MJ her phone back.

“You’ll have to call from a software in the computer lab. I need your phone.” Ned shook his head, but still relinquished the phone to Peter, who tucked it in his pocket. “I’m gonna call MJ once I really get moving, and you’ll guide me to Toomes, got it?”

“Peter, you can’t be serious about this,” Ned said. “You can’t go after him alone, that’s dangerous.”

Peter cut Ned off. "Ned there's no time. Just do it. As soon as I have a way to call you guys, I will. MJ," he turned to give her his undivided attention. MJ stared at him, frowning, taking slow and even breaths. "I need you to get ahold of Miles. Tell him he needs to call Aaron over and over until he gets through, and have him tell him that Spidey knows the wing psycho is going after Stark's plane."

"What? Peter, that makes no sense—"

"Do you trust me?"

"Why does Aaron need to—"

"MJ, do you trust me?"

MJ's lips formed a thin line. "I—well yes, but—"

"This is so much bigger than me, okay?” Peter pleaded, putting his hands on her shoulders and looking at her beseechingly. “I can't tell you why. It's just important. Please."

MJ scowled at him and bit her lip, but nodded. “I don’t like this, Peter.”

“I know,” he responded. “I don’t like it either.”

“Be careful,” Ned said, hands balled into fists.

“I will. I gotta go, guys,” he said, turning and shooting a web at a lamppost.

“Seriously, Peter, _be careful_ ,” MJ called. Peter waved a hand in acknowledgement as he swung away towards the front of the school. He paused on the roof of the building, grinning as he saw a convertible pull up, and not just _any_ convertible. He leapt down from his position on the roof.

“—and that was not fresh, okay? So—AHHHHH!” Flash screamed as he slammed on his breaks when Peter landed on the hood of his car. Peter smirked under his mask. Oh, this was gonna be sweet.

“Flash,” he growled. “I need your car.”

Flash looked up at him with wide brown eyes full of fear. His lip quivered as he responded. “Uh—sir, this is actually my dad’s car, sir, so—"

“I wasn’t asking,” Peter snarled. Flash let out a frightened shriek and scrambled for his seatbelt while his date opened her door. As soon as they both cleared it, Peter flipped over the windshield and landed in the driver’s seat. He reversed the car and spun it around, then shot forward to the turnout of the parking lot, knocking into a few bikes as he did so.

“Oops,” Peter muttered when he finally got on the road. He pulled Ned’s phone from his pocket, found MJ’s contact card, and called her, putting the call on speaker. It rang once before she picked up.

“Parker, what’s going on,” she asked.

“MJ, I need to know if Ned’s got that tracker going yet!” Peter shouted, swerving between cars.

“I got it,” Ned said in the background. “He just passed a GameStop on Jackson Avenue.”

“Ugh—where are the headlights on this stupid thing—” Peter grunted, swerving again. He wasn’t having much trouble seeing, but the oncoming traffic sure had a hard time seeing him. “I’m in Flash’s car,” he said, swerving again.

“Hang on, I’ll pull up the specs—”

“Oh my God,” MJ interrupted. “There’s a handle on the left side with a knob. Turn it.”

Peter twisted the knob, relieved when the headlights flared to life. “Thanks, MJ.”

“Losers,” she muttered. “Haven’t you done any driving before?”

“Well yeah, but only in parking lots with May. This is a huge step up,” Peter shouted. Someone nearly hit him—or he nearly hit someone, and he just managed to avoid a collision. “Hey, come on people, move it!”

“I can’t believe you stole Flash’s car,” Ned said. Peter could hear the grin in his voice. “That’s awesome.”

Peter laughed. “Yeah, it is awesome.” He couldn’t have stolen from a nicer guy. “Have you got through to Happy yet?” Peter asked.

“Oh, almost,” Ned replied. “He won’t answer my call, but I can backdoor the phone system. I’ve got a program running right—”

“Hello? Hello?” Peter heard Happy’s voice shouting in the background. Peter sighed. At least they got through to someone. “Who is this?”

“Mr. Happy, it’s Ned—”

“Who?” Peter winced. Happy did not sound… well, _happy_.

“I’m an associate of Spider-Man, sir, and I have a really important message—”

“You gotta be shitting me.”

Peter groaned. This was not going well.

“Sorry, Peter, I don’t think he liked that,” Ned said apologetically.

“That’s an understatement,” MJ said.

“Ugh, okay, never mind.” He could do it without Iron Man. “MJ, What about Miles?”

“I got ahold of him and told him to keep calling. He said he’d call as soon as Aaron picked up.” Peter bit his lip. _Okay,_ he thought, _I’m on my own. No different then usual. I got this._

“Ned, where’s my phone now?” Peter asked, leaving the business district and heading towards an industrial area.

“He’s stopped—looks like he’s at an old industrial park in Brooklyn,” Ned said.

“What?” Peter asked, alarmed. “How—how can he rob the plane from Brooklyn?”

“I don’t know, Peter,” Ned responded, sounding as confused as Peter was. Peter was on a deserted stretch of roadway. “Whoa, slow down. He’s on your right.”

“What?” Peter asked, accidentally accelerating.

“Your right!” Ned and MJ shouted together. Suddenly, Peter saw the turnoff that was hidden by some trees. He slammed on the brakes, screaming and throwing out a web to help slow the car down. He pulled hard, sending the car careening down the street, knocking it into streetlights as he went. The car started to roll and he cringed as the door scraped against the asphalt before the car stopped, falling back on all four wheels. Peter pressed a hand against his chest, feeling his heart beat wildly as the shock of the stop wore off.

“Peter, are you okay?” Ned asked.

_Shit, that was scary._

“Don’t leave us in suspense,” MJ said. Peter could hear the worry in her voice, making the joke fall flat.

“Yeah,” he responded. “I’m fine—just, try Mike, okay? Try to get ahold of Mike.”

“It’s been an honor, Spider-Man,” Ned said before Peter hung up the phone. He dropped it in his pocket as he climbed out of the car, running toward the old warehouse that Toomes’s car was parked in front of. Once he reached it, he scaled the wall and tiptoed across the roof, finding the access panel. He quietly removed it, then used his webbing to carefully lower himself to the floor. Once his feet touched the ground, he let go of the web and spun around when he heard the humming of electronics. A series of computers sat behind him, all displaying images and blueprints of an airplane, as well as pictures of Avengers Tower and a map. Peter turned slowly, surveying the room, but paused when his eyes landed on the mechanical wing suit.

Peter took a careful breath and closed his eyes, listening hard. Toomes was here, and he was vulnerable without that suit. If he could just focus—

_There._ Peter could hear the faint sound of metal clacking against metal. Peter quickly moved through the warehouse, creeping up until he saw the Vulture at a table, putting things away. The man turned around and glanced at him, shook his head, and chuckled as he returned to what he was doing.

Peter saw red. “Hey,” he shouted, stomping forward. Toomes barely even reacted.

“Hey Pete,” he said, turning around and leaning back against the desk. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Why was he being so casual? He wasn’t in his wingsuit. He had to know that he was no match for Peter unarmed. “It’s over. I’ve got you.”

“I’ve gotta tell you, Pete,” Toomes said as he pulled on his coat. “I really, really admire your grit. I see why Liz likes you.” He was completely unphased as Peter continued to stalk forward. “When you first got to the house I was like, ‘really?’ But I get it now.”

Peter paused, tilting his head. “How could you do this to her? To your family?” he asked.

“I’m doing all of this _for_ her,” Toomes responded, leaning forward. Peter shot a web, sticking his hand to the desk behind him.

“Yeah, okay,” Peter said.

Toomes sighed and shook his head, looking straight at Peter’s face. “Peter, you’re young,” he said. “You don’t understand how the world works.”

“Try me,” Peter said. “Selling weapons to criminals is pretty bad, Vulture—”

“Vulture?” Toomes interjected, looking thoughtful.

“—and pretty much anyone would agree with me when I say it’s wrong.”

“How do you think your buddy Stark paid for his Tower, huh?” Mr. Toomes asked.

“Not my buddy, man.”

“Well you’re sure acting like it, protecting his stuff and all,” Toomes carried on. “Those people, Pete, those people up there—the rich and the powerful—they do whatever they want. Guys like us,” he gestured between Peter and himself with his free hand, “like you and me, they don’t care about us.” Peter shook his head, starting towards Toomes again. Peter felt his spider-sense buzz again and he turned quickly, but nothing was behind him.

“We built their roads, we fight all their wars, but they don’t care about us. We have to pick up after them. We have to eat their scraps.” He wasn’t wrong. Peter learned day after day that people like him didn’t matter, not unless they were useful, and Peter resented that. Toomes understood that resentment, probably because he resented it as well. But Peter knew manipulation when he saw it. There was no way Toomes would be able to trick him into freeing him.

“Why are you telling me this?” Peter asked. “It’s not like you’re sharing anything I don’t already know. I have a job to do, man. I have to bring you in. It doesn’t matter what you have to say.”

“I just want you to understand,” Toomes said, smiling. “And I needed a little time to get her airborne.”

Peter gasped and spun around, seeing the wingsuit flying at him. He jumped and flipped out of the way, bouncing between the cement pillars surrounding him. The buzzing got sharper and sharper with every dodge. Apparently, it wasn’t very good without it’s pilot. While it took some effort to keep himself away from the sharp edges of the wings, he remained unharmed.

“Sorry, Peter,” Toomes shouted over the noise.

“What are you talking about,” Peter said, grinning cockily. “That thing hasn’t even touched me yet!”

“True,” the Vulture said, shrugging a little. He gave Peter a smile of his own. “But then, it’s not like I was trying to.”

Peter took a step back, tracking the wingsuit as it circled the pillars, this time smashing through them. He gasped as his spider-sense shot up his spine, but he was too late in figuring out the danger. He tilted his head toward the ceiling, trying to step away as large cement chunks rained down on him, but it was useless. A huge slab of rock and metal crashed over him, pinning him to the ground. He coughed and gagged as dust got sucked into his mouth.

“I told you not to interfere with my business,” he heard, distantly. He gagged again, his vision going fuzzy. “Gotta go kid. I’ll see you next—oh, never mind. I guess not.” Peter gasped again as he heard the sound of footsteps fading away, until there was nothing.

He was alone, and he was pretty sure he was going to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Writing Notes:  
> 1\. Wolf pups are adorable. Also, my husband told me that. I was like, “No, honey. There was that study,” and he goes, “Nah, the scientist debunked his own study. He realized that wolves that aren’t part of the same pack who are in captivity behave this way because they have to, but in the wild they behave totally differently towards each other.” Then I looked it up. My mind was blown. I mean, yeah, they’re still pack animals and have leaders, but the whole dynamic that I used to think about is completely wrong. The more you know.
> 
> 2\. Does anyone else think Peter is obvious? I think Peter is obvious. He’s not subtle. Why hardly anyone figures out that he’s Spider-Man is beyond me. Toomes is a smart cookie. That’s one of the things that makes him an interesting baddie. He’s clever. I think he can put two and two together pretty easily. Peter disappeared from Liz’s party, Spider-Man chased Toomes’ guys that were in her neighborhood. Peter met Tony Stark, Spider-Man helped out Iron Man in Germany. Peter wasn’t on the elevator with Liz, Spider-Man saved her.
> 
> 3\. Peter’s conversation with Liz is a huge departure from his usual Spider-Man MO. If you want, you can call it out of character. I very much debated on keeping it in, but decided to for one reasons: I wanted to demonstrate that Peter has been doing this so long he is manipulating the people he’s close to, not because it’s good for them, and not because of any real altruistic reason, but because it serves his purposes, and he does it without even really knowing it. Sorry if that’s off-putting. As for Liz knowing about the gun—I knew where most of my dad’s guns were, growing up. It wasn’t a secret. Most kids that age know if their parents have a permit to carry and how often the have their firearms on them, in my experience. Granted, I live in a little cow-town, so everyone is all about their guns, so maybe my perspective is different from someone who lives in a proper city?
> 
> 4\. Someone needs to say he’s leaping to conclusions, but he leapt to the same conclusion in Homecoming a smidge later with the same information. Also, I don’t care if the kids don’t still say it, "oh, snap" is my favorite.
> 
> 5\. Like I mentioned earlier, chapter 17 has been somewhat altered to serve my purposes. These being phone purposes. Shhhhhhhhh. Peter had Daredevil's Number since Monday (in fic time). Almost a week. About five days. It's been there, and he's followed Daredevil's advice about memorizing important numbers.
> 
> 6\. Didn’t it bug anyone else that Peter *called Ned* from *Flash’s phone* and didn’t worry about the potential consequences? Like, if he left Flash’s phone in the car and the Thompsons recovered it, wouldn’t Flash see that the last call was a ten-minute conversation with Ned Leeds? And I know at the time it was a needs-must situation, but I mean… idk. So that didn’t happen this time around.
> 
> 7\. Good time for a double update, amiright? 
> 
> Hope you liked it! Please leave a kudos if you were entertained, and leave a comment to tell me what you thought. I love reading them. :-) Or if you'd like to talk about my stuff, ask questions about my fic(s), or just say hi, come visit [ hanuko](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Peter never_ actually _thought he would be dead at fifteen years old. Despite all the threats the Kingpin had over his head, he never really thought he’d die, even after the beating he took from Mr. Fisk, or the fall at near terminal velocity he took into a lake. If those things couldn’t kill him—but those were both so different than feeling the air escaping his lungs as the pressure of the weight he held slowly pressed down against him. Death was always an afterthought. It was like his brain would occasionally remind him,_ ‘oh, by the way, you might be killed, doing this.’ _His fear was always for May first, then his friends, then himself. He was too strong to just—to die like this. At least he always thought he was._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. 
> 
> Did you leave a comment on the last chapter? I mean, I know it's a double update, but you know. I'm needy. ;-)
> 
> Okay, fine. No pressure. 
> 
> Tags have changed. A brief description of possible triggers for the chapter are in the end notes. If any of the tags listed could cause distress, please tread carefully. Stay safe. <3
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

Peter shivered where he was pinned, coughing uselessly as the dust settled around him.

“Hello?” he croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again, louder. “Hello? Is anyone here?” all he could hear was the creaking of the cement weight on top of him. “HELLO?”

Nothing. Nearby, he could hear water trickling. There was a static crinkling; the sound of concrete dust hitting the ground. Peter could barely breathe. His eyes began to well up in panic.

“Help! HELP! Someone, please! I’m stuck!” he cried out, trying to shift the rock on top of him to no avail. “I can’t move! Please!” he tried to take deep breaths, but the slab pinning him down pushed most of the air out of his lungs immediately, restricting him to a shallow intake of air. “Please,” he begged, quietly, tears coming down his face. He didn’t even have the energy or ability to sob, despite the terror he was feeling. It was too much weight. He wasn’t going to make it. This was the end of the line.

Peter never _actually_ thought he would be dead at fifteen years old. Despite all the threats the Kingpin had over his head, he never really thought he’d die, even after the beating he took from Mr. Fisk, or the fall at near terminal velocity he took into a lake. If those things couldn’t kill him—but those were both so different than feeling the air escaping his lungs as the pressure of the weight he held slowly pressed down against him. Death was always an afterthought. It was like his brain would occasionally remind him, _‘oh, by the way, you might be killed, doing this.’_ His fear was always for May first, then his friends, then himself. He was too strong to just—to die like this. At least he always thought he was.

Peter uselessly tugged the mask off his face, taking less obstructed breaths. The dust coated his throat, but it was better than trying to suck air through the thick fabric that covered his mouth. He looked around, trembling, trying to see something—anything—that could help him.

_Ned’s phone!_ he thought to himself, trying to wiggle his arm down to his pocket. _If I can just reach it…_ Peter started by moving his arm slowly and carefully, trying not to disrupt the rock above him, but his arm couldn’t seem to slide under his torso. It seemed he could press his hands up to the rock above him, or down against the floor, but moving them towards any part of his body seemed impossible. He threw caution to the wind, moving frantically under the rubble to get to the phone, but he couldn’t. He was completely stuck. There would be no calling for help, and he was in a collapsed warehouse. No one would come this way for a while. Peter was going to be crushed to death.

_I’m going to be_ crushed _to death._ Tears leaked out of his eyes at a more rapid rate, and he shuddered, trying to contain them. _Oh, God. Is this how I die? Trapped under two tons of cement in a dirty old sweat suit?_ Peter moaned in despair, giving one last attempt to shove the rock off of him. When it didn’t budge, he felt his body start to relax, allowing the pressure of the debris to push him further down. Air was expelled from his body by the pressure and Peter tightened his muscles, pushing back against the stone so he could take shallow breaths again. He couldn’t keep that up forever, though.

Peter was _scared_. He was terrified out of his wits. He wasn’t wearing the fancy suit with the tracker that would notify Happy he was in trouble. He couldn’t reach his phone to call Mr. Wesley or Mr. Fisk. Only MJ and Ned knew he was even _in_ the warehouse, but Happy wouldn’t take them seriously, and Aaron wouldn’t know to come here. He would only know about the plane. The worst part was, Iron Man was sort of right. Peter believed that he was one of the only ones capable of catching the Vulture, but Mr. Stark warned him this was over his head, and he didn’t listen. Now he was going to die. Mr. Fisk would have understood that more manpower was needed if Peter had just called him at the school. If he had just listened and tried to take a step back, maybe none of this would have happened.

“I messed up,” he said, sniffling and closing his eyes. “Oh God, I messed up so badly.”

“So what do you do now?”

Peter’s eyes snapped open and he looked around, but there was no one present that he could see.

“Hello?” he called. There was no response. Peter let out a quiet sob, closing his eyes against the fresh wave of tears trying to escape him.

“What do you do when you mess up, bud?”

Peter opened his eyes again with a gasp and he looked around. That voice—who—why was it so familiar? “Who—where are you? I can’t see you?”

“Come on, you know this. When you fall down, what do you do?”

Peter heard it. He heard it clear as day, but when he focused his senses, he knew he was the only person here. Peter took a careful breath and thought hard about what he was hearing.

“You… you get back up?” he asked, tentatively.

“That’s right, bud. The thing about Parkers is no matter how much people knock us down, we always get back up, right? We get back up until we can’t anymore.” Peter shivered, sniffling slightly. He _knew_ that voice.

“Ben?”

“Who else?” Peter felt his eyes drift shut. Strong calloused fingers were combing through his hair. His eyes opened again and the feeling disappeared.

“Ben,” he whispered, closing his eyes. The fingers returned, calming him. “Ben I’m so scared. I’m stuck.”

“I know buddy, I know,” Ben said, soothingly. “I wish I could carry this for you.” Peter’s shoulders shook from his crying and exertion. He was so _tired_. “All this power you have—well it’s a bit much, isn’t it? Too much, sometimes.” Peter nodded. “But Pete, I know you. I know you and I know what you can do. Trust me when I say you can do this.”

“I can’t, Ben, I can’t. I’m not strong enough.”

Peter heard Ben’s low, smokey chuckle. He could practically see the man’s brown eyes staring at him, twinkling. “You think your strength comes from you arms? From your muscles and these fancy powers?” Peter nodded. The fingers left his hair and he whined, bereft at the loss of contact. He kept his eyes shut. “Peter, your power has always come from here,” Peter felt warm fingertips pressing against his forehead, “and here.” The large palm of a hand was pressed against his chest over his heart. Peter sniffled.

“But Ben—”

“You’ve always, _always_ had such a mind, Peter. The only thing bigger is your heart. That’s where your power comes from,” Ben said resolutely. “You know what’s right, and what you have to do.”

Peter broke down and wept, body shaking with each little sob. The hand returned to his hair, another touching the tear trails on his cheeks. “I don’t anymore. I don’t do good things anymore, Ben. I’m—I’m not—”

_I’m not good,_ he thought.

“Peter, you listen to me,” Ben said sternly. “You are _good._ You are so, _so_ good. The best of all of us. Rich and Mary are so _proud_ of you. _I’m_ proud of you. How could you possibly think you’re anything but good?”

Peter sniffled. “I’ve done—I’ve done bad things,” he cried. “I—I knew they were bad. I knew it, but I did them anyway. I did it to protect May and Ned and MJ, but people got hurt because of me. People died because of me.”

Peter heard Ben sigh. “Peter, I’m not gonna say what you did was right.” Peter trembled, new cries trying to make their way out of his throat. “But your heart was in the right place, hmm? We all lose our way, sometimes.”

“We do?”

“Of course,” Ben chuckled. “We’re human. We’re not infallible. Life is full of twists and turns, and we have to react to the situation with what we’re given. The important thing is finding your way back, right?”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said, crying. “I’m sorry that I let that guy go—”

“Stop right there, bud,” Ben said, stern again. “That was _not_ your fault. That could _never_ be your fault.”

“But if I just—”

“No,” Ben sighed again, letting his hand still on the back of Peter’s head. “You can’t live this way, buddy. You can’t live your life through what-ifs. It’ll eat you alive. Okay, yeah, what if you stopped that guy? I’d be alive. But what if he pulled a gun on you for stopping him? Would you still be here?”

“I—” Peter had never thought of that. “I don’t know.”

“Exactly,” Ben replied. “May taught you to keep yourself safe when you don’t know all the ins and outs of a situation. I taught you that when you’re strong enough to protect yourself and others, it’s your responsibility to do so. At the time, you were doing exactly what we would have wanted. What happened wasn’t your fault. Okay?”

Peter sniffled. “Benny,” he whispered. “I didn’t say I love you, when you—I love you—”

Ben sighed again, petting Peter’s hair. “Oh, Pete. I know. I knew it then and I know it now.” Peter’s heart ached. Ben _couldn’t_ be there, but he felt so very real. He could even smell him now—cedar wood and old spice deodorant and dust and sweat all mingled together, covered by that old cologne Ben always put on. “And I love you. I’ll never stop loving you, no matter what.”

“I miss you. I miss you so much,” Peter whispered.

“I miss you too, bud,” Ben said in a watery voice. “But to be honest, I would much rather you stay right here.”

Peter laughed, almost hysterically. “I can’t. I can’t get out.”

“Okay,” Ben said, gently. “If you can’t, if you _really_ can’t and you want to stop, I’ll stay with you.” Peter sighed, relieved. “But I know you, son. I _know_ you, and if I remember rightly, you’ve never, ever wanted to stop, and you’ve always been able to shake off anything life tried to throw at you.” Peter felt a warmth fill him at his uncle’s words. “Can’t see? _That’s okay, Benny, now I can wear my favorite color all the time._ Asthma? _Benny, I’ll still run just bring that medicine stuff._ Hospitalized from a crazy lab accident? _Ben, did you know someone could puke that much?_ ” Ben laughed.

“You—you think I can do it?” Peter asked, hesitantly. A bright light burned red behind his eyelids, and even though his eyes were still closed, for a moment, a brief, shining moment, Peter could see his uncle clear as day. Peter saw his long, silvering brown hair that was always pulled back in a ponytail. He saw his uncle’s weathered face, tanned from working outside so much, freckles spread across his nose. He saw Ben’s warm brown eyes, and warmer smile.

“Of course you can, Pete,” his uncle said, looking at him with such pride—a look Peter hadn’t realized how much he missed until now. “How can you not? You’re _Spider-Man_.”

Peter’s eyes snapped open and he grunted, bracing his hands against the rocks on top of him. “Come on—” he grunted, pressing up. He could hear some of the rock around him start to shift. “Come on, Parker.” He could start to move his legs under him. “Come on, Spider-Man. Come on, Spider-Man!”

He kept shouting at himself, slowly easing the rock off of him bit by bit until he finally pushed it off. It landed with a thud that shook the ground. Peter gasped, looking around. His mask lay in a puddle. The bright light he could see behind his eyelids was gone. There was a new chill in the air, and when Peter looked overhead, he could see clouds gathering in the sky.

Peter moved his hand to his cheek, where he was so, so sure he felt his uncle wipe away tears. His skin felt no different than normal—there was no bloom of warmth that was left behind. His cheek wasn’t dry. He couldn’t even smell it—that distinct smell that only belonged to Ben was gone, and not a touch of it lingered.

That warmth in his chest remained, though, and he had the same feeling he got after he was wrapped in his uncle’s arms. He felt warm. He felt loved.

He felt _safe._

He could do anything right now, and that meant he could stop Toomes. Peter shook himself and stooped down to grab his mask. He put it on and pulled Ned’s phone out of his pocket, then frowned when he saw the screen was shattered beyond belief. He tucked it away, reminding himself that it could be his bones that were in that state. He turned, looking for a way back to the street, but a mechanical noise caught his attention. He looked up and saw the Vulture, standing at the top of an old billboard, ready to launch. Peter strained his senses. In the distance, he could hear a jet engine coming closer and closer to them with every second. They must be near the flight path of Mr. Stark’s plane.

Peter started running, scaling the structure as quickly as possible. Just as he reached the faded advertisement, the Vulture took off, flying after something Peter couldn’t see, but could definitely hear. Peter got to the top of the billboard and leapt off, shooting a web at Toomes. He felt his stomach climb to his throat as he momentarily fell, but he jerked to a stop and was pulled skyward.

“Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap—” Peter muttered to himself, swinging wildly back and forth. He did _not_ want to fall from this height. His whole body was aching from the weight of the building. He didn’t know what would happen to him if he hit something at terminal velocity while he was already so injured. He didn’t want to test it. He looked up and saw that Toomes was braced against—nothing. Peter squinted, and could barely make out a shape that was darker than the sky around it. Toomes was on the stealth plane. Peter was still being pulled upward until he knocked into the plane, causing him to lose his grip on his web. He started sliding, but stuck his fingers to the surface, gripping as much as he could against the wind pressing against him. Slowly, he started crawling to where he last saw Toomes. A large, metal cap was sticking to the plane. Peter pressed forward to the shell, certain the Vulture was beneath it. Peter finally reached it, and startled when a metal, birdlike drone split off from it, hovering momentarily before the plane started turning a different way, leaving the drone on course.

Peter steeled himself, ignoring the bird and focusing on pulling the stupid metal cap off the plane. After straining against the top, he crawled up, and starting kicking at the edges. Finally, the metal shifted. Peter grinned. _Got you now._

Suddenly, the cap transformed, shooting out whirling turbines. The cap changed into the metal wings the Vulture wore, and detached from the plane, Toomes strapped in. Peter gripped the metal with his fingertips, scaling up the side.

“God, how is this my life?” he said to himself as he pulled himself to a more defendable position. “It’s _Homecoming._ I’m supposed to be at school, dancing with Liz, and working up the nerve to ask her on a real date. I’m not supposed to be on the outside of an invisible jet _fighting her dad!_ ” His spider-sense came to life, prompting him to look over just in time to see the Vulture speeding toward him. Peter shot a web out, then ducked, falling away from the plane as one of the Vulture’s wings sliced through it. He clung to the web, being dragged after Toomes. He felt it the moment his web pulled away and he flipped in the air, watching as the turbine of the jet got closer and closer. Out of sheer panic and instinct, he unloaded both of his webshooters, spinning his hands in a circular pattern. Before he knew it, he was braced against a thick web he spun within the turbine.

“I can’t believe that worked,” he panted. The engine he was braced against separated from the casing and fell out, pulling Peter with it. He clung to the shell desperately, kicking against the turbine he was stuck against until his webbing finally broke. The plane started listing to the side, and Peter wasted no time scrambling to the top of the jet so he could get a better handle on controlling its path. Toomes flew over the top of him and Peter rolled instinctively, barely dodging the razor-sharp wing tip that came at him. Toomes came closer and closer, cutting the metal next to Peter, slicing through each web he shot until Peter was tossed off the plane. He caught himself with his webs on the rear engine and held on for dear life, trying to climb his way back to the plane. When he finally managed to stick himself to the rear jet, his saw Toomes hacking away at the top of the plane. Peter aimed, ready to web him up, but something in the distance caught his eye. He looked up and for a second he thought his heart stopped.

“Oh my God,” he whispered.

The New York City skyline was bright in the distance, all glowing bronze and gold as the plane started falling towards it. They were going to crash. The plane was going to crash into the city and kill hundreds of people—maybe thousands. Peter had to stop it.

He rolled and stood up, firmly planting his feet against the metal jet beneath him. He aimed carefully and landed a web on one of the flaps that controlled the plane’s wings. Then, he leaned back, and pulled. The metal flaps came up and the plane started to turn, slowly circling around buildings instead of crashing through them. It didn’t feel like he was moving quickly enough.

“Please turn, please turn!” he begged, pulling harder. The plane neatly scooted around the skyscrapers that were once in its path. It started to head towards the ocean when Peter’s web snapped. In front of him he could see the amusement park of Coney Island, brightly lit. “Oh no,” he whispered, trying to regain himself so he could steer the plane again.

It was too late. The wing sliced through the Parachute Jump. Peter bit his lip. He had heard on the news that they were testing it for maintenance issues. He hoped no one was on the ride. _Oh,_ please _don’t let anyone be on the ride._

There was no time to worry, though. The plane kept going down, faster and faster until it crashed into the sandy beach below. The impact threw Peter off the plane and he rolled and flipped across the ground until he finally skidded to a stop. Peter saw white for a second as he lay, body twitching on the ground. He gasped and carefully felt his way up his torso, wincing as his fingers touched against sensitive spots. His ears were full. Peter dragged his hands up to his face and pulled the mask away, gasping for air that wouldn’t seem to come. He had the wind knocked out of him before, and knew it would come again, but now was really not a good time for him to struggle to breathe.

His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. He blinked, wincing against the sharp ringing in his ears as he tried to focus his blurry vision. He pushed himself upwards and stumbled to his feet, looking around for—something. Someone? Peter took a couple of staggering steps, using all his concentration not to fall back down. He squinted his eyes through the dirt and smoke, then startled when a pair of glowing green eyes shot toward him.

Peter screamed as he was knocked back into the ground by the Vulture. Adrenalin made him pick himself up again. He knew if he stayed down, he was dead meat. _Parkers get back up,_ he reminded himself as he gritted his teeth against the burning pain that was shooting through every limb of his body. Nearby, he saw Toomes get up as well, staring at him menacingly through his mask. Arcs of electricity sparked off his suit.

“Hey Pedro,” he growled before launching himself at Peter. Peter dodged, diving to the ground and rolling over. The Vulture came at him again and Peter shot a web toward him, but his vision was still off. Toomes flew past it easily and pinned him to the ground, clutching at his shoulders and chest with metal claws. Peter cried out as they pierced his skin, but as he tried to move away a metal fist collided with his face over and over again. He coughed as fluid filled his mouth and ran down his throat, tasting like pennies. He could hear screaming, and _Mr. Fisk was looming over him, blood spattering the pristine white jacket he always wore. Peter couldn’t breathe—there were hands wrapped around his throat—_

Peter’s eyes snapped open—he wasn’t even aware he closed them—and he caught the fist, twisting it away from him. The Vulture launched him into the air, but Peter kicked against his chest and pulled apart the metal claw holding him in place. Toomes wasn’t done though. He tossed Peter even higher, and as soon as Peter hit the ground, he felt those same metal claws cutting into his shoulder and back. Then he was lifted and smashed into the ground.

The metal grip was gone. Peter moaned and rolled over, blinking blearily overhead, not seeing much of anything. He felt himself being slowly lifted from the ground and gagged as the neckline of his suit pressed against his throat. Then, as quickly as it began, it stopped.

Peter fell back into the sand, gasping for air. He lifted his head to see Toomes clutching a container from the ground in the metal talons of his suit. Peter flinched, seeing sparks shooting out of the back of the wings. “Your wingsuit is gonna explode!” He shouted, trying to shoot a web at the man and coming up empty. There was no time to change the cartridge. Peter’s sixth sense alerted him the moment before there was too much strain on the engine and he dove back into the sand, covering his face.

The explosion deafened him and showered him with debris. He was almost certain that shrapnel pierced his arms and back, feeling sharp, abrasive pieces skim across his skin. After a few heartbeats he sat up, eyes widening at the fiery sight in front of him.

_No,_ he thought as he pulled himself up. Toomes couldn’t be dead. He wasn’t supposed to die from this. “No!” He ran toward the fire, covered his hands as best as he could, and lifted the hot metal plate—possibly a former wing—off of where he thought Toomes was. The metal broke off the rest of the suit easily, and Peter threw it aside, making a pathway to the criminal in front of him. Finally, after minutes that felt like hours, he uncovered the man enough to pull him free.

Peter dragged Toomes away, and he only deemed it safe enough to stop when he no longer felt heat licking at his back. He dropped the man from his fireman carry and fell to his knees, coughing sharply from the smoke inhalation and the damage to his throat. Toomes blinked his eyes open and turned his head, watching Peter.

“Why did you save me?” he asked, voice raspy from the smoke.

Peter stared at him disbelievingly, then shook his head and stood up again. Toomes wouldn't be going anywhere any time soon. He replaced his web cartridges and went back to the plane. He gathered up all the loose containers that had spilled from the cargo bay, webbing them together in a heap.

“Pedro?” Peter sighed and scratched the back of his head, chuckling quietly to himself. _Of-fucking-course,_ he thought, as he debated his options. He didn't have much of a choice. On the one hand, he was well past his third strike with the Kingpin. If Peter didn't deliver, his neck was on the line. May’s _life_ was on the line. He had people he had to protect, and this was the best way to do it. He turned back and stared at the man, taking in his wary but grateful expression.

On the other hand, this was Liz's dad. Not only was he her dad, but he was a good one. Sure, he broke the system and made things more dangerous for his community, but he did it for his family first, which Peter could respect. And although Peter wasn’t sure if it even happened, he could still hear Ben’s voice, telling him he could find his way again.

Who was he kidding? He didn't have a choice at all.

Peter stalked back to Toomes and pulled him up, then dragged him to the containers. He sprayed more webbing around the villain, then wandered off in search of something that would act as a sign. He was in luck. Someone—most likely a tourist of some sort—left a pad of paper and some markers behind on the beach. He picked up his find and went back to Toomes, thinking of how to word his message to the police.

“I don't understand,” the man said, quietly, confusion etched on his face. Peter shook his head.

“Of course you don't.”

“What?”

“ _Oy._ Toomes, why do you think I wasn't scared to come after you after you waved a gun in my face? You think that's the first time someone threatened to shoot me? You think I don't know what it's like to fear for my life every god damned day?” Peter asked, grinning a little maniacally. “You? Not a threat at all.” Peter was lying, but Toomes didn’t need to know that. “For a criminal mastermind, you're pretty stupid.”

Toomes scowled. “Hey, wait a min—”

“You think you can swan in on Kingpin's territory without so much as a _how do you do_?” Toomes blanched at Peter’s statement. Peter scoffed. “Yeah, that's what I thought.”

“What are you going to do with me?”

“Well that's just it, isn't it? I'm supposed to deliver you to my boss. My very angry, very violent, very easily triggered boss. That's why I targeted you. That's why I messed up your whole operation. You think I give any shits about someone like Iron Man losing his cargo?” He really couldn’t. Tony Stark had already shown how invested he was in what Peter did. The fact that his ‘point guy’ couldn’t be bothered to answer Peter’s call for help showed him _exactly_ where they stood. “He's a billionaire. What's gonna happen—SHIELD will chew him out?” Peter threw his hands up, pad of paper and pen still in his grasp. “I could care less. You bringing those weapons into my neighborhood, well, that was not cool. But the fact that you just came in and didn’t check out who's backyard you were messing in?” Peter let out a low whistle. “You should have thought twice before cutting the Kingpin out of your profits.”

“I'm sorry—”

“Sorry doesn't cut it. Kingpin doesn't take apologies.”

“Pete, I have a family,” Toomes pleaded, his eyes wide.

Peter sighed. “Yeah, I know. You're _Liz's dad._ If you were anyone else—” Peter cut himself off with a head shake. “But you're not. You're her _dad,_ and I can't bear to see her at school on Monday after your family finds you when Kingpin is done with you. I can't handle seeing her face when you're gone, knowing that I was the reason she would never see you again. So here's what’s gonna happen,” Peter webbed the note to collect him beside his head. “The cops are on their way. No way they're not coming to this exact location after one of Tony Stark's stealth planes went down. You're gonna go quietly. You're not gonna kick up a fuss. You're gonna confess to everything you did.”

“And I'm gonna keep your name out of it?” Toomes asked with a raised brow.

Peter chuckled humorlessly. “It doesn't really matter now, does it?” he asked, quietly. Peter watched the realization of his predicament dawn on the Vulture's face before he turned and stalked away from the beach.

* * *

“Have you reached him yet?”

Wilson eyed his companion carefully. Wesley gave no indication of his distress, with the exception of a slight shifting of his body weight. He carefully adjusted his spectacles before choosing to respond.

“No, sir.”

Wilson sighed heavily, folding his hands under his chin. “What did the Prowler say?”

Wesley shifted again. “He said that his nephew had called, and that Spider-Man told him to tell his uncle that the psycho with the wings was going after Stark’s plane. Prowler started heading toward the inner city at my direction.”

Wilson nodded. _Very well,_ he thought. It would be good to have the Prowler available when he needed them. He just hoped the boy wasn’t up to something. The television in the corner of his office showed a fiery scene. Apparently, Stark’s plane had crashed.

_“Thankfully, the Parachute Jump has been down for maintenance and was operating in a testing capacity only. There were no casualties reported at the boardwalk.”_ The reporter stared forward into the camera with a very serious expression, wisps of her brown hair blowing in the wind. It had started to rain.

_“Lynn, what about the reports of seeing a metal wing man and Spider-Man in the sky?”_ the camera flashed back to the news anchor. He wore a curious expression as he folded his hands on the desk in front of him. 

_“Not much has come to light about that,”_ the news reporter continued, _“but there have been sightings of the Spider-Man fleeing the area. We’ll have more information soon. The Police and several agents from Homeland Security have arrived on the scene.”_

Wilson frowned, deeply, taking a careful breath to control his anger. “How did you come along with the tracker in his phone?” he asked softly. Wesley cleared his throat and lifted his head, staring at a point over his shoulder.

“It showed he was in an industrial park in Brooklyn,” Wesley said, blankly. He was detaching. Wilson could see it in his eyes. Wesley had been very fond of the boy, after all.

“Not exactly a place for a date,” Wilson said softly. Wesley shook his head. Wilson glanced back at the news, watching as cameras zoomed in on security from Stark Industries entering the fray. “Did he try to contact yet?”

Wesley stared at Wilson for a moment, blue eyes cold. Slowly, he shook his head.

Wilson felt his heart speeding up. _I gave that boy so many chances,_ _and he decides he can try to make a fool of me?_ The giant clenched his fists together, taking shallower and shallower breaths until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He roared in rage as he stood up, flipping the table over as he went. Wesley cringed and took a step back, but did not leave the room. He knew better than that. Wilson snarled and grabbed his seat, throwing it into the wall beside him. Wesley stood stock still, awaiting instructions. Wilson looked up and saw a flicker of fear in those eyes. He took a breath to calm himself. He wasn’t angry with Wesley after all. Wesley only did what he was told and tried to give the boy every chance to work properly for Wilson. It was good that Wesley tempered Wilson’s impatience with the child. Perhaps if they had him a little longer, he could have been a true asset to them.

No matter.

“Call Ohnn,” Wilson said, quietly, his rage mastered.

“Sir?” Wesley asked, slightly befuddled by the request.

“Prowler can’t handle this alone. Call Ohnn. Tell him we have a situation and he’s needed.”

“Alright sir, but he would need to know where to go,” Wesley said, tentatively. Fisk chuckled. “Isn’t it obvious, Wesley?” This part was easy. Parker’s motivations were predictable, after all.

“Sir?”

“Tell him his target is heading for Queens. I think you know where he’ll go next.”

Wesley nodded and left the room, pulling out his phone to make the call. Wilson turned and faced the window, glaring at the water drops that were pelting against it.

Peter Parker would rue the day he decided to cross the Kingpin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *****TRIGGER WARNING*****  
>  Mild description of being crushed. Description of losing air/being unable to breathe. Mild descriptions of being choked.
> 
> Fun Writing Notes: 
> 
> 1\. My mom passed away many years ago, and I wish I could have a conversation with her a lot of the time. I remember the last thing we talked about before she passed, and I lost her at a relatively young age, so I wonder what she would think of my life how it is now. About how I am at raising my kid, or doing my work, or well, any of it. Loss is heavy, but the people who pass on never really leave us. They’re in our hearts and minds, always. That really fed the scene between Ben and Peter. His loss is what drives him, but the memories he has of his uncle and the kind of person he was are what give him the strength to do what he does. 
> 
> 2\. Crush wounds. Just… oof. I read some stuff, and I decided I would NOT include it, because it _disturbed_ me. Just suffice to say that what I described was incredibly mild, and Peter will definitely suffer for it later when the Adrenalin wears off. 
> 
> 3\. I don’t know how believable people thought that scene on the plane was in homecoming, with the webbing of the engine? Here’s my take. Comic book science, that *made* it work. Peter knowing what to do? Human beings have instinctive measures that we take for survival. I had a teacher who told our class about a really bad car accident she was in, but no one got hurt. As soon as she was hit, she started spinning the wheel and she didn’t know why, but she did it. Turns out, when she was hit, her car had gone just past a telephone pole. If she hadn’t steered in the direction she had, her car may have smashed into the pole. Crazy, right? So I buy it. 
> 
> 4\. So y’all know how I took that little break a while back? When I had surgery and SAD and projects and holidays? I was still working on the story, but I was writing this scene between Peter and Toomes (on the beach) and some upcoming scenes for the next chapters. I’ve been really excited to get to it, let me tell you, so I really hope you all liked it. 
> 
> 5\. OF COURSE I WOULDN’T HAVE PETER GIVE TOOMES TO KINGPIN!!! That’s his lady’s dad. Peter knows he can’t right a wrong with another wrong. He just lost his footing for a bit. He got led astray. He was manipulated. He just needed a little reminder to get him back on track. Come on. ;-)
> 
> 6\. That last scene… if you get a chance to listen to [_Despatch the Horesmen,_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kjsRunF-8FU) by David Arnold (Good Omens Soundtrack) I would recommend it. I found it very fitting. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!!! I'm really looking forward to your thoughts on this chapter. I made myself cry writing it, so let me know, yeah? I really hope it landed right, so please leave a comment. 
> 
> Come see me on [Tumblr](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/) if you ever want to come say hello. :-)


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Peter reached his bedroom window, then slid it open and slipped inside his dark bedroom. Wasting no time, he tore open his door and ran out of the room, mask still on his face, looking around wildly for his aunt. He couldn’t lose her. She was all he had left._
> 
> _“May?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> Mind the tags, and please note the tags that AREN'T there before leaping to any conclusions. ;-)
> 
> Hope you all enjoy, and please let me know what you thought with your comments. I'd love to hear it. :-)

“Shit,” Peter muttered, swinging his way to a semi-truck that was trundling towards Forest Hills. He landed on the back and sat down, panting. “Shit, shit, _shit_ why did I do that? Oh God, that was so _stupid!_ ” He knew it was the right thing, but now—

He had time. _He had time_. Mr. Fisk wouldn’t be able to get to Forest Hills before him. Mr. Fisk would probably be finding out what Peter had done _now_. Peter had a head start; he could still get there. Between using the vehicles on the road and his webs, he would make it back to his apartment quickly. He could still get to May first. It didn’t matter that he would have to reveal himself as Spider-Man right when he got there. May would listen to him. It might be difficult to convince her to pack a bag and leave the city for a night, but he could get her to see reason, he was sure of it. He just had to get _home._

The weight of his decision was pulling down on him like heavy stones. He knew this could be a possibility. He knew months ago when he woke up in a hospital to Mr. Wesley warning him about the ramifications of going against the Kingpin. He knew if he ever turned that the people he loved would be in danger. Peter laid back against the container on the semi and cringed as his ribs protested the stretch. His whole torso stung and ached, and it hurt to breathe. Swinging had been a nightmare. Not only that, but his spider-sense was constantly buzzing in his ears, making him unable to focus on specific threats. Between the building and the plane crash, Peter was pretty sure he’d be out for the count for the foreseeable future. He wondered when he’d be able to call Ned and MJ to stop their worrying.

Peter sat up with a gasp, then whined as the sudden movement caused sharp, pulsing pains through his chest and back. How could he not think of Ned or MJ? They were in danger too! Mr. Wesley said he’d go after all of them if Peter ever tried to get out of the game. He couldn’t keep them safe, too! He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes hard enough to make spots appear. He could call Mike. He could ask Mike to keep an eye on them. Peter shook his head, groaning. That wouldn’t work. Mike would have the exact same problem he would have—he wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on them all the time. The Kingpin would strike when they least expected it. Maybe Mr. Stark could—

_No,_ Peter thought, shaking his head. _He’s made it clear what he thinks of you. Not only that, but he’ll turn you in to Ross. No, out of the question._

Peter spent the remainder of the ride in a state of panic as they rolled toward his home. As soon as they got to the exit, Peter leapt off the truck to land on a small U-Haul that was heading into Forest Hills. As soon as they reached the city proper, Peter took off, swinging his way as fast as he could toward his apartment. His body protested, but he ignored it, focusing on getting to May as soon as possible.

He could call Ned and MJ to warn them—he _would_ call them—but what could they do? They were just kids. They didn’t have superpowers like him. They weren’t safe. Even if they did believe him about Mr. Fisk being the Kingpin, their parents probably wouldn’t believe _them_. They wouldn’t be able to get out of the city. Peter had seen what happened to people when they double crossed Mr. Fisk. He read police reports and news articles. People—loved ones—disappeared. Peter couldn’t let that happen to his friends.

The more Peter thought of it, the more he realized that the only option was to take the Kingpin out. Peter shuddered as the thought popped into his head. He knew he could take down Mr. Fisk. He may be a really strong man, but he had nothing on Peter. Mr. Fisk got the jump on him because the circumstances were _just_ right. Peter was in no place to fight back. Peter meant it when he told Mr. Wesley that he wouldn’t let Mr. Fisk do that again.

He couldn’t deliver Mr. Fisk to the police. The man was untouchable, and Peter didn’t have anything to use against him. There was nothing that tied him to any of the criminals he was working with. It didn’t matter that Peter saw it with his own eyes. He was a fifteen-year-old kid. No one would believe him without concrete proof. He couldn’t just beat the crap out of Mr. Fisk either. Sure, it might scare him, but most likely it would just make him angry, and would put an even bigger target on Peter’s back. There was really only one option left. Peter swallowed nervously as he swung down his street. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t kill another person. No one deserved to die. He wasn’t judge, jury and executioner. Killing was never necessary.

_“It’s necessary when there is no other way to stop them,”_ Mike’s voice whispered in his head. _“When you can’t put them away—when you can’t touch them, then killing is the only option left.”_

Peter shook his head as he landed on the brick wall of his apartment complex and scaled up to his window. His eyes were stinging and he was having a hard time catching his breath. His heart thudded in his chest when he thought about having to take Mr. Fisk’s— _anybody’s_ life. It made him feel sick. Mr. Fisk was a really _bad_ guy, but Peter still didn’t think he deserved to die. Death was so final; so permanent. There was no coming back from it. Peter didn’t know that he could be the cause of that.

Peter reached his bedroom window, then slid it open and slipped inside his dark bedroom. Wasting no time, he tore open his door and ran out of the room, mask still on his face, looking around wildly for his aunt. He couldn’t lose her. She was all he had left.

“May?” he called. The hallway was dark. In fact, the only light Peter could see on was from the lamp over the stove, casting part of the kitchen and the front door in a golden light. The apartment was so still and quiet that the little dust flecks hovering in the dim light managed to catch his notice. Peter tried to focus, but he couldn’t hear anyone else in the room with him. Panic gripped him.

“ _May!?”_ he called again, more desperately. He moved forward quickly, turning his head from side to side, as if May would suddenly appear in front of him. He reached up and flicked on a lamp so he could see more of the room. Once the living room was properly lit, Peter saw a bright, neon pink sticky note above the bowl where they usually threw their keys when they got home. Peter walked over and pulled it off the wall.

_Pete—_

_Hope you had a good Homecoming! I’m at Gayle’s. Call me when you’re home._

_—May_

Peter let out an audible sigh, tension suddenly releasing from his shoulders. She hadn’t even left the building. She was visiting their neighbor. _She’s just downstairs. She’s fine, for now._ Peter didn’t know how much time he had before the Kingpin’s men knocked down his door. He would just grab some bare essentials, maybe a keepsake, and throw his street clothes over his suit. Then he could just run downstairs, grab May, and they’d be that much closer to her car. He shook his head, trying to think of what to put in his bag—he wondered where May even put it since he finished unpacking it the other day. She always, _always_ did the packing. He had no idea what to even bring. Peter clutched a hand to chest and swallowed. _Clothes,_ he thought. _Clothes for me and May, toothbrushes and toothpaste, deodorant, my laptop—wait, no, they can probably track that. Okay, no laptop. But what about a keepsake? Oh! Our photo album._ He knew exactly where all those things were. May should have her keys and wallet on her. They were going to make it out just fine. He just had to get moving.

Peter spun around to head back into his room when suddenly a large black hole opened right in front of him. Peter leaned back, surprised, but a snow-white arm shot out of the darkness and grabbed Peter’s shirt, yanking him forward. Peter screamed as he was tugged into nothingness. For several heartbeats, he felt nothing but cold—no air, no light. All he knew was that for a few seconds he thought he _became_ nothing, when suddenly he was falling against wet pavement. He coughed and choked when he hit the ground as a horrible sharp pain went up his chest.

“Oh, _ow_ ,” he moaned, wrapping his arms around himself and holding tightly to keep the pain at bay. Everything _hurt._ He wasn’t sure how he was even still moving now that he was on the ground. Every single muscle screamed at him to just _stop._ Distantly, he heard the rushing sound of water. It was something different than the raindrops that were falling from the sky. There were low streetlights nearby, shining against the wet asphalt he was laying on.

“Get up,” a muffled, somewhat robotic voice said. Peter lifted his head and saw a weird, purple blur. He shook himself, clearing his eyes, bringing the figure into focus. It was tall. Peter could see the human-shaped form was wrapped in purple and green armor and a dark cloak hung off its shoulders. The face—helmet? —stared at him with creepy, violet eyes. Peter shuddered, weakly climbing to his feet and putting his fists in front of himself. He had to fight. He had to get back to May from… wherever he was.

“Aw, does the little spider want to play?” Peter frowned when he heard that voice. For some reason, it sounded like it was above him. The teenager looked up and very quickly dodged when he saw a white leg kicking out at him from the sky. _What the hell was that?_ When Peter regained his bearings he looked back in the same spot, but nothing was there.

Peter screamed as he felt a heavy impact to his shoulder. “You shouldn’t turn your back on an enemy, Spider-Man,” the robotic voice said. Peter stumbled and spun around just in time to dodge the purple dude who was trying to slice him with a metal claw. Its dark cloak whipped his face as it passed him.

“Who are you?” he asked, stepping backwards. He tripped over something and stumbled, but once again nothing was there. “Why are you doing this?”

The robot-man shrugged. “You can call me the Prowler,” he responded, “and I’m just dealing with a mess my boss wants cleaned up.” Peter’s eyes widened. This guy worked for the Kingpin. A hole opened up in front of Peter, and a guy in a skintight, white suit covered with black spots slid through it.

“I’m the Spot,” he said. Peter was almost certain he had heard that voice somewhere else. Though there was no face on the man’s suit, Peter could tell by his tone that he was smirking.

“What, like a dog?” Peter asked, sarcastically. The Spot shrugged and stepped closer to Peter, but he was ready. He pulled his fist back and punched forward, straight at the guy’s chest, remembering Daredevil’s lessons. A hole opened up on the guy’s chest, and Peter’s arm disappeared, then he saw his fist coming _through_ the Spot’s face towards his own head. Peter’s eyes widened before snapping shut. He heard an odd snap, and suddenly pain blossomed in the center of his face. Blood was leaking into his mouth. He staggered backwards, trying to make sense of what just happened.

“Never seen a dog do that before,” the Prowler chuckled. Peter came back to himself in time to see the Spot throw several holes from his suit at Peter, circling him with them. The Spot disappeared into one, and then from every angle, Peter was hit by feet and fists, punched and kicked all over his body. Periodically, the Prowler would fly through and catch his torso or leg with those stupid claws. Peter shot a web at a nearby lamppost, managing to get himself out of the fray of limbs that were constantly bombarding him, but as soon as he swung out, he was kicked out of the air by a heavy boot—a boot that was encased in something he recognized. Those were the anti-gravity climbers he helped develop! The Prowler hovered over him a moment before shooting back down, claws out and ready. Peter rolled away and got back to his feet, catching the Prowler’s cape and throwing him into the Spot. Once again, a large hole opened up, and the Prowler disappeared, then reappeared above him, smashing straight back into him with his fist. Peter fell to his knees and the Prowler grabbed his arm, then picked him up and threw him back towards the Spot. Once again, he was surrounded by black circles. Peter was struck over and over again. Fist after fist came at him, driving into his horribly abused flesh. Soon, it seemed the only thing keeping him on his feet was the force of the hits to his body.

Finally, they stopped. Peter shuddered as he collapsed to the ground. He couldn't keep up. This white, dalmatian-spotted _freak_ had every advantage over him, and the Prowler was ready to jump in whenever he needed help. His punches landed on skin that was already bruised and torn from the building that almost crushed him, the plane crash he was tossed from, and the abuse the Vulture laid on his body. The Spot struck in places where Peter’s bones were already fractured, breaking them further with each impact. Peter's heart pounded so hard, he could feel it from the top of his head all the way down to his fingertips. Even if he managed to get back up, he was done for. He let out a pitiful whine and curled into himself on the ground, soaking wet and shivering in the cold. The rain poured down relentlessly over his body, as if the universe or God or _whatever_ was trying to tell him how shitty his life had become. Like he needed any reminders

Peter blinked his eyes open and saw heavy black boots in front of him. He gasped, struggling to breathe as he reached for his mask. He knew he shouldn't show his face, but the need for actual air outweighed the consequences of revealing his identity. He was going to die anyway. He may as well give himself the comfort of an easy breath.

The Prowler took a step back when Peter's mask was off. Peter turned his face up and tried to focus on the purple glowing helmet.

“Shit.”

Peter squinted. The mechanical voice was familiar, somehow. It was like when he first heard that Spot guy talking.

_“God dammit!”_ The Prowler stomped away from him.

“What?” That was the Spot. He loomed over Peter’s face. _“Oh.”_ Peter's eyes drifted shut as he took in their conversation. “Okay, this is—this is not what I expected.”

“Of course it ain’t what you expected! I knew Kingpin had him doing something, but this? Shit!” the Prowler growled.

Peter’s eyes blinked open again to look at the dark, gloomy sky above him. He wished it was a clear night. It would be nice to see some stars before it all ended.

Ben loved stargazing.

He shut his eyes against the tears that slipped down his face as he thought of his uncle. Would he be waiting for Peter somewhere after? Would Peter have to find him? Why wasn’t he here? He came to Peter before. Why wouldn’t he come now? Was it because he could only come for him once? Peter shivered. Maybe it was because he couldn’t come at all, because he never came the first time. Maybe Peter dreamed the whole thing up.

Maybe Ben was just dead, and there wasn't even an after for Peter to go to.

Peter gasped sharply and tried to move—to get up. _Come on, Parker,_ he thought to himself. _Come on, you threw a building off of yourself. You survived a plane crash. Get up!_ He struggled, rolling onto his back and trying to push himself up. He couldn't. He didn't have anything left. He was only allowed two narrow death escapes per night, it seemed. He blinked and tuned back in, listening to his adversaries’ conversation.

“—still have Morris to deal with,” the Prowler said.

“Well, at least he’s nearby,” the Spot said, shrugging. “And he’s getting firsthand knowledge of how much control Kingpin has over the city. Even powers can’t save someone who flips on him.”

“I can't kill the kid, man,” the Prowler continued, sounding agitated.

“Fine,” the Spot hissed. “Back off and I'll—”

“That's not what I meant! God, this ain't right.” Why was the Prowler so agitated? Peter opened his eyes again as he heard footsteps thudding against the asphalt as they came toward him. “He's a kid. He's _our_ kid.” Peter’s eyebrows furrowed. What was the Prowler talking about? “How can you be so ready to kill him?”

“Because Fisk—”

“Don't say his name!” the Prowler hissed.

The Spot sighed. “Fine. Because _our boss_ will kill us if we don't kill him. Our families, too.” His voice was firm and unforgiving. “I know me and Quentin haven't talked in a long time, but Kingpin still knows he was my best friend, and the man is going places at Stark Industries. I'm not letting him get killed because of some misplaced sentimentality you have over some teenager. I told you to keep things professional.”

_What the hell?_ They were talking about Peter like they knew him. Peter struggled to rise and managed to get up on his elbows before he collapsed again. Everything hurt _so much._ He started feeling dizzy.

“If you can't do it, just stay over there and I'll finish it,” the Spot continued, complete ignoring Peter’s struggles to get back to his feet.

“With what? You don't have a weapon,” the Prowler scoffed.

“I've been doing alright without one so far.” Peter turned his head to the two men, and his eyes widened in panic when he saw the Spot holding up his fists. _God, no._ This crazy _schmuck_ was going to beat him to death. Peter’s breath came quickly. He had to get away. He had to find a way out, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. He was stuck. He was trapped. He was going to be hit over and over again, just like before, but this time when he blacked out, he wouldn’t wake up again. The last thing he would ever know of this world would be pain. He whimpered and the Prowler turned his head toward him. Peter shook his head quickly, eyes wide with panic.

“Shit, man! No, that's not okay. You can’t kill him, not like that.” The Prowler said, turning back to the Spot. Peter found himself wondering why the Prowler was so adamant about helping him. It wasn’t as if he knew him, but then again, he and the Spot kept talking about him as if he meant something to them.

“And your brother? Your sister-in-law? What about that little nephew of yours?” Peter’s head was too fuzzy. This—this _meant_ something. He couldn’t put it together. He got hit in the head too many times, and everything was muddled. “He's even younger, and he has a clean slate. Face it, that kid has blood on his hands, just like you and me. You want to sacrifice your own life, and the lives of actual innocents in his place? When this kid has been delivering men and women to the boss after gift-wrapping them?” Peter shut his eyes tightly at the words. The Spot was right. He made his bed. It was his fault. He chose to do what he did. He could have said something to someone... Daredevil or maybe even Mr. Stark. He didn't, though. He just carried on as if it would all go away.

This was karma. Just desserts. _Kismet._

He hoped May wouldn't have to see whatever horrible remains they left behind.

At least now the Kingpin would probably leave her and his friends alone. His death should be enough. The Kingpin didn’t always bother with loved ones if he got to the target first. He mostly went after them if the person who betrayed him was around to see what happened to them. May, Ned and MJ didn’t know anything about his operation. Maybe—maybe this would be it, and they would be safe. Peter let out a little huff of air, scowling at the sad little wish that came to him. They weren’t safe. He couldn’t kid himself. They were in danger, and now he couldn’t even warn them. _Please,_ he thought, _please don’t hurt them. Please let this be enough._

“Back off,” the Prowler said. Peter opened his eyes and saw the man was standing in front of Peter. For a brief moment, he felt a flicker of hope. “I'll do it.” His heart fell. “Go tell Wesley that it's done.”

“The boss wants him alive. He wants to do it himself, you know that,” the Spot said, slowly.

“This is a dangerous vigilante. It was lucky we managed to take him down at all,” the Prowler said blankly.

“He’ll be angry,” the Spot sighed.

The Prowler shrugged. “That’s my problem. I’m not delivering a child to the Kingpin.” He crossed his arms over his chest, standing firm. 

“But—”

“Did I stutter?” The Prowler growled, menace lacing his tone. After a few heartbeats Peter watched the Spot shrug then start to walk off. A purple gloved hand appeared in front of him, reaching down to his collar.

“Don't mess this up, Davis,” the Spot called back.

Davis?

_Aaron?_

Peter blinked and frowned, his heart pounding harder in his chest. No, it can’t be Aaron, he thought. But the things the Prowler was said about Peter, the anti-gravity climbers he wore, and even his voice made the idea plant itself more firmly in Peter’s mind. The purple, glowing eyes were peering into his face again. The Prowler's other hand came up and hit a button, causing the head piece to retract. Peter found himself staring into a very familiar pair of deep, brown eyes. It was _Aaron_ who just helped beat the crap out of him. Peter felt a mixture of terror and betrayal grip him as Aaron hauled him up and dragged him over to a railing. Peter focused his senses and realized the water he heard earlier was a river. They were on some kind of bridge.

“Aaron?” he stammered, not quite believing what he was seeing. Pain shot through his back as he was pinned against the rail. He hissed as his body was leaned back over the river rushing below him, only held in place by Aaron's hand and the barrier behind him. His heart raced and his chest felt tight. He couldn’t breathe.

Aaron stared at him then craned his head to look at the water below. He looked into Peter's eyes. Peter saw a terrifying mixture of fear, remorse and determination.

“Kid—”

“ _Please,_ Aaron,” Peter begged hoarsely, “please, I don’t want to die.” He felt new tears slipping down his face, burning against his chilled skin. “I don’t want to go, _please!_ ”

Aaron pressed his lips together tightly. “Kid. They know where Jeff is. They know where Miles lives and where he goes to school.” Peter whimpered and pulled up his arm, trying to claw at the hand holding him in place. Aaron looked over the railing again. Tears were falling from his eyes in full force, mingling with the rain that had dampened his face.

" _Please,_ ” he sobbed, clutching weakly at Aaron’s wrist. He couldn’t fight anymore. He could only beg.

“This is all I can do for you," his mentor said, hefting him further up. He raised his voice. “Believe me, the river is kinder than the Kingpin is. It’ll carry you where you need to go.” Peter's feet dangled uselessly below him. “You just gotta trust me,” he began, suddenly halting. His lips were pressed tightly together and he shook his head quickly. “This is gonna hurt,” he said slowly. Peter scrambled a bit more frantically to pull Aaron's wrist off of him. “But in the long run, you'll be better off.” Peter whined, his hand falling uselessly to his side as his energy drained out. He closed his eyes.

“See you on the other side, Pete.”

Upon hearing the short farewell, Peter felt himself lifted even further before gravity suddenly took hold of him. His stomach jumped to his throat as he moved through the air. His calves and ankles hit the railing as he plummeted, and Peter opened his eyes just in time to see what he thought was the Hudson rising up to meet him.

The moment he hit the water, everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Fun Writing Notes:
> 
> 1\. In canon, where Peter is extremely injured and/or tired, his spider-sense doesn't work very well at all. It's not really explained why as far as I know, but my take on it is that the main danger to him is his injuries. His spider-sense is telling him to get somewhere safe and heal. 
> 
> 2\. I had planned for the Spot to fight Spider-Man since I first introduced Ohnn. :-)
> 
> 3\. Where the heck is Tony?
> 
> Thanks for reading, y'all. Please leave a Kudos if you were entertained, and/or a comment to let me know what you thought (questions, comments, concerns, or overall feelings are welcome). Also, I'm [hanuko](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, so feel free to drop by and holler at me there. :-)


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Tony?” Happy prompted. “Seriously, it was a good call to give the kid that suit again. I was worried when you took it, but I'm glad you guys worked it out.”_
> 
> _“I never gave the suit back.”_
> 
> _“What? But—”_
> 
> _“It couldn't have been the kid. I—I grounded him. He doesn't—it wasn't him.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In personal news:
> 
> Hooray to me! I got the job I interviewed for! Huzzah! It's a promotion! It's more money! It's more responsibility! 
> 
> ... wait.... 
> 
> ;-)
> 
> This chapter is another Tony POV! I'm excited about this it, too. It was a bit of a rough go, but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. Hope you all enjoy!

_Strings._

Tony fiddled with an old project in his workshop, his mind a million miles away.

_So much for no strings._

He nearly growled in frustration at the memory of the words Peter threw at him. The sheer audacity the kid had to compare his safety and the safety of others to—what, a list of secret clauses in a contract? Tony took that suit so the kid would slow down for a minute.

He did not expect a news report about the vigilante stopping a robbery in Queens the next day. Tony quickly came to the realization that it didn't matter _what_ he said or did; Underoos just wouldn't stop. The kid would do whatever he would do, regardless of the consequences, and Tony was left behind to fret and worry like some mother hen. Tony's phone buzzed loudly on the metal table, startling him. “Dammit!” he hissed, dropping his tools after he accidentally jabbed his finger. He glanced at the workstation behind him and swallowed down the guilt that was welling up inside his chest.

Peter's suit was folded neatly on the table.

He was so upset and perplexed by it all. That kid had been weird since the day he _met_ Tony. He acted as if he expected the billionaire to hurt him in some capacity. Tony let it go. He let it go because he was sure a child who lost his parents, then the man who raised him soon after, probably had abandonment issues at the very least. Tony could definitely respect trauma. There was more to it than that, though. Peter offered very little trust. He gave half stories and let Tony come to his own conclusions about him, never really confirming or denying if Tony was right. He was evasive and manipulative. Tony wasn’t stupid. He had too much experience in his life to miss it, but he figured he would take the wait-and-see approach.

Tony _hated_ the wait-and-see approach.

There was something wrong with Peter. Tony couldn't put his finger on it, but there was just something off about the whole thing, and he couldn’t chalk it all up to the kid seeing his uncle die, no matter how gruesome the police report read. He was sure there was something else driving the kid’s weird behavior.

Ever since Peter’s fit (because Tony did not want label it as something as heinous as a nervous breakdown—not for a fifteen-year-old), the billionaire had continually tried to figure out what the hell the kid was talking about. He started out maturely enough. Peter was glad no one was hurt, and didn’t contradict Tony when he laid the blame at his feet, despite the fact that both of them knew if Tony had told him what was going on, he wouldn’t have gone near it. In fact, the worst thing Peter did was mouth off in the ways all teenagers do.

_Like you’re even here._

_I’m fifteen._

The reaction to losing the suit, though? That hysterical laughter that led to tears? The accusation that Tony was the same? That was visceral. Tony couldn’t get it out of his head. Who was he supposed to be the same as? Tony was certain someone else knew about Peter’s abilities and alter-ego, and that said person may have manipulated Peter right from the start to get him to do what they would want. It would explain how cautious Peter was when Tony first showed up. If someone else had used Peter’s powers against him before, well, Tony was pretty sure even his reputation as Iron Man wouldn’t shake Peter’s suspicion of him, or anybody for that matter. The question was _who_. Tony couldn’t figure out who had anything to gain from manipulating Peter like that. His aunt would never, even if she knew. She was his biggest supporter, to the point where she was willing to go toe-to-toe with Tony on several occasions for Peter’s wellbeing. Kids at school were just that—kids. Sure, they were smart kids, but this level of blackmail required the delicacy of a practiced hand. Tony even considered Fisk for a moment, but Peter’s boss was one of the most giving philanthropists the city had ever seen, and didn’t have any kind of mark on his record. At the gala, Peter acted a little stiff, but he was working. He still laughed and joked and teased Fisk, and Fisk did the same in return. No, Tony was pretty sure if it was Fisk, their rapport would not have been so open. That left him with no suspects. Maybe it was someone else as Confederated Global Investments.

His phone buzzed again. Tony sighed and picked up once he saw Happy was trying to reach him.

“Yes dear? Can I help you?” he asked, not bothering to cover up his snark.

“Boss,” Happy said slowly. Tony knew that voice. That was Happy's _something-bad-has-happened-and-I'm-very-nervous-about-telling-you_ voice. Tony pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Do I want to know?”

“Um...”

_Oh shit._ Tony straightened up. Happy at a loss for words speaking in that tone meant _very_ bad news was coming. “What?” he asked, alarmed.

“I want to start by saying everything is under control,” Happy said, clearly trying to soothe.

Tony let out an agitated huff.

“Someone hijacked your stealth plane.”

“What!?”

“But we got it back, its fine. We’re going through everything, but so far it looks like the gear is accounted for,” Happy rushed on, “and I need to confess that I had very little to do with the recovery. I'm not sure how the hell he managed to bring down your plane in a deserted area _and_ prevent anything from being stolen, but Spider-Man did good work. Good thing you gave the kid his suit back.”

Tony's mouth fell open and silence stretched on between them. Tony could hear some men shouting in the background.

“Tony?” Happy prompted. “Seriously, it was a good call to give the kid that suit again. I was worried when you took it, but I'm glad you guys worked it out.”

“I never gave the suit back.”

“What? But—”

“It couldn't have been the kid. I—I grounded him. He doesn't—it wasn't him.” Tony felt his chest tightening in panic. There was no way Peter brought down one of Tony's planes. He couldn't have done it in the suit Tony built, let alone in that homemade onesie. Could he?

“Tony,” Happy said slowly, as if trying to keep him calm, “I'm at the beach now. At Coney Island? The guy with the weapons—the one Spidey said wore a wingsuit; he's here and he's been webbed to the cargo.”

Tony swallowed, ready to demand Friday read out the kid's vitals before that stupid suit caught his eye again. _Shit,_ he thought, anxiety spiking. He went to a touch screen and typed a command for Friday to track Peter’s phone. After a few seconds, a blip appeared in Brooklyn, but Tony could see it had remained stationary for almost an hour and a half.

“How long have you been there, Happy?” he asked, quietly.

“About twenty minutes,” Happy replied. When I got here, things were still on fire.” So much for Peter being in Brooklyn. “He left a note, too.”

“A note?” Tony asked quietly.

“Yeah. It says, 'Found flying vulture guy. Spider-Man. PS sorry about your plane,'” Happy chuckled.

“Is he close?” Tony asked. “Do you have eyes on him?”

“No, boss. I've called, but no one picked up,” Happy said, sounding regretful. “I got a call earlier from some kid who said he was working with Spider-Man, but I thought it was a prank and I hung up. I'm gonna go back through my phone and call him back.”

“Alright, Hap. I'll see what I can do,” Tony said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You did good. I'll let you know if I find him.”

“Same here, boss.” Tony put his phone in his pocket after Happy hung up. _Jesus Christ, this kid is going to give me a heart attack,_ he thought. Tony took the suit to _stop_ Peter. It was supposed to make him take a breather. Instead, he went after guys like—the birdbrain or whatever he named him, which was not something he was supposed to even be able to do. At least, Tony _thought_ Peter wasn’t capable of that yet. Apparently, he really misjudged this kid’s abilities, because it looked like Peter managed to recapture Tony’s plane, crash it in a relatively deserted area (a near impossible feat on the beach at Coney Island), and to top it all off, he captured an insanely dangerous weapons’ dealer. Tony felt a mixture of terror and pride at the thought.

“Friday,” he called, heading for his suit, “I need eyes on Coney Island. The boardwalk.”

“Okay boss. What would you like me to find?” Tony practically jumped into the suit as soon as it opened. It blinked to life as he engaged the systems, and Friday had already loaded a satellite map on the screen for him. Tony launched, heading for the amusement park.

“Security footage. Facial recognition for Peter Parker.”

“Got it,” the AI responded. Tony flew closer and closer, waiting for her results.

“There are no definitive matches to Peter Parker.”

“How close can you get to a match?”

Tony waited impatiently for her calculations to be complete. “I have found fifty possible matches to Peter Parker. There is a seventy-five percent possibility that Peter Parker is one of these individuals.”

“Friday,” Tony groaned. “What good is that?”

“Sorry boss.”

“Why do you have so many potentials?” Tony asked. He immediately regretted it as she answered.

“Currently, the major demographic enjoying the attractions at the amusement park are Caucasian males and females between the ages of sixteen and twenty-five. Peter Parker has common hair and eye coloring within this group.”

“Yeah, but he looks like he's twelve, Fri.”

“I have accounted for the youthfulness of his appearance in my search parameters, which allowed for a seventy-five percent possibility of a match instead of sixty-percent. It also reduced the number of potentials.”

Tony sighed, about to ask for the images Friday found when an obvious idea struck him. Peter wouldn't be fighting this vulture guy as _himself._

“Run facial recognition for Spider-Man.” Friday was silent for a few seconds.

“There are 3 recordings of Spider-Man available. Shall I pull them up?”

“Yes!”

“No need to shout, boss.” If Tony didn’t know any better, he would say her voice sounded reproachful. All three recordings were of Peter, swinging over and away from the park, heading towards the freeway.

“Why didn't stay near the city,” Tony mused, heading in the same direction. There was way less to swing from by the freeway.

“Most likely because there is traffic heading towards Queens from that route,” Friday supplied. “It can save energy and even time if he chooses to find a vehicle that is heading the same direction.”

“Wait,” Tony asked, alarmed. “You mean he stuck his thumb out and hitchhiked?”

“While that is a possibility, it is far more likely he jumped on the back of a vehicle, seeing as there have been several sightings of Spider-Man sitting on top of vehicles and other modes of transportation,” Friday supplied a couple of images from rag-mags, showing blurry photos of Peter in the Spider-Man suit, sitting on top of the train or on top of delivery trucks.

Tony hummed in acknowledgment, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of his wayward vigilante _. I just need eyes on him,_ Tony thought. _Once I see he's safe and sound I can figure out how to deal with everything later. I just need to see he's okay._

“Incoming call from Happy Hogan, boss. Should I pick up?” Friday asked.

“Yeah, answer it.”

Tony waited, and a small beep indicated the call was connected. It looked like Happy was using the audio-only function. “What do you have, Happy?” Tony asked. Maybe Peter was on the beach after all. He probably changed his mind after he started to head to Brooklyn and went back, figuring since it was Tony’s plane, Tony’s people would be there. “Did you find him?”

“No boss. I got a call from a blocked number that went straight to voicemail. It came through while I was trying to call that kid back. You really need to hear it, but I don’t know how to send it to you.”

Tony frowned. “Fri, copy the latest voicemail from Happy Hogan’s phone to mine. Authorization Bravo Oscar Sierra Sierra. What is this, Hap?”

“It’s about the kid, Tony, and it sounds bad,” Happy said, flatly.

Tony swallowed nervously as Friday started the recording. _“Hello—no, Claire, I don't know how long—Don't touch that mask!”_ a man's voice growled.

_“Then how the hell do you want me to check for head injury—”_ a woman asked in the background, exasperated.

_“I didn't say to check for head injury! Just vitals!”_

_“Mike, of all the stupid—”_

Tony blinked. _What the hell?_

_“We'll give Iron Man ten minutes, alright? The kid won't thank you for seeing his face_.” There was a pause and the sound of someone clearing his throat.

_“Mr. Stark,”_ the voice continued, a little more gruffly, _“Spider-Man’s associates gave me this number in case of an emergency.”_ Tony's heart nearly stopped as he continued toward Brooklyn.  
  
 _“An—associate brought him to me at the request of someone who was concerned for his well-being after an altercation he was in. I hate to say it, but the kid's in trouble, and he needs help that I am not able to give him. I don't know if this is actually a number I can reach you at. I understand it belongs to an employee of yours. I'll try again in a few minutes but if you get this, will you send someone to Hell's Kitchen? We’re in the warehouses by the docks. He's in bad shape. I'll call again soon.”_ The line clicked.

Tony stared at the cityscape below him before snapping back into action. “Friday, change course. Head to Manhattan.”

“Got it, boss.”

“If he actually does call again, you conference me in, Happy.”

“Sure thing, Tony,” Happy said, gruffly.

“Good man. Just hang on the line for a sec, and I’ll see if I can get you that phone number,” Tony sighed. “Friday, any chance you can unblock that number?”

“On it. This may take a few minutes.” Tony tried to settle himself and let Friday do her work.

“Tony,” Happy said suddenly, “I’m getting a call from a blocked number again.”

“Answer it!" Tony demanded. Tony heard the telltale beeps that signified he was put on hold before the lines were connected. Whether it was Friday or Happy who connected the lines, Tony didn’t know or care. “Hello?” he asked. He was met with silence. “You've been calling, now you've got me. Where the hell is my kid?”

“Stark?” the same gruff voice from the message asked.

“The one and only,” Tony scowled.

“You know, I've heard you on the phone with him. I'm still stunned he has a way to call you.”

“Look, dark and mysterious asshole,” Tony said lowly, injecting as much venom in his voice as he could, “I don't have time for your bullshit. Do you have my kid or not?”

There was silence on the other end for a beat. “In Hell's Kitchen, there's a bunch of warehouses by the docks. We're in an old abandoned one with a dolphin on it.”

“Why are you in an abandoned warehouse?” Tony asked mapping a course to his new destination.

The guy on the other end let out a humorless chuckle. “That's where we vigilantes do business, Mr. Stark. Spidey's okay for now, still breathing and a decent pulse, although the nurse I've got checking him out is nervous that it's thready.”

“We vigilantes?” Tony quoted. “Who the hell are you?” Friday showed his arrival time would be two minutes.

“We'll see you soon, Stark.” Tony growled in exasperation when he heard a click.

“Looks like he hung up, Tony,” Happy said. “It’ll take me a while to get to Hell’s Kitchen.”

The docks and warehouses were straight ahead. “Head to Queens, Happy, and call the kid’s aunt. If he’s as bad off as it sounds, then she needs to know what’s happening.” The secrecy couldn’t happen anymore. If Peter was hurt, his aunt needed to know about it, and know that he was somewhere safe. Peter wouldn’t forgive him, but Tony couldn’t be worried about keeping this secret; not when he could be terribly injured or worse.

“Got it.” Happy hung up. Friday did a quick scan, and the destination she had for him matched mystery man's description. Tony landed in front of the warehouse and cautiously entered, looking around.

A man stood with his back to Tony, surveying a young woman who was crouched over—

Oh God. Oh _God._ It was Peter. He was lying prone on the ground, not even twitching as the woman touched his neck and torso. Tony could see his chin was uncovered, but instead of his usual mask that would cover his whole face, he wore a black bandana that was wrapped around the top half of his head, covering him from his nose to the top of his scalp.

“You're quicker than I thought you'd be,” the man said, turning around. He had an identical black mask covering the top of his head and wore a serious frown on his face.

Tony ran past him, ignoring him as he stooped down to check Peter himself. He reached for his mask, then paused, looking up at the woman who was still examining him. Her hair was pulled back in a loose bun, and her dark eyes looked over Tony, mouth set in a stern way. Tony lowered his hand, taking in what little he could of the kid’s face. There was a dark bruise coloring his jawline, and right above his lip Tony could see there was some remains of what looked to be dried blood. His whole body was soaked through.

Tony cleared his throat. “Friday, scan him. I need to know injuries and vitals, now.”

Several screens popped up in front of him, depicting Peter’s blood pressure, pulse, and an image of his body being scanned. “Peter’s pulse and blood pressure are outside of normal parameters,” Friday said in Tony’s ear. “I am unable to determine if this is due to his injuries or his enhancements. It appears he has a concussion, broken nose, and several fractures in his ribs, clavicle, and scapula. He also has hairline fractures in the bones of his right hand, and his abdomen has very severe bruising. He appears to be in shock, boss.”

“Jesus _Christ_ what the hell? Was this from the plane crash?”

“Plane crash?” the woman in front of him repeated, appalled. “Wait, was _what_ from the plane crash?”

“I am unsure. The way the wounds have progressed indicate they happened at different times. The wounds on his torso could be the result of an altercation, however, the bruising indicates a different type of impact. He also appears to be suffering from internal bleeding.”

“Shit!” Tony exclaimed, tone the complete opposite of Friday’s calm voice. “Shit, okay. Friday, can we move him?”

“Excuse me,” the woman said, standing up, “I am a nurse, and it would be very unsafe to move him without the correct equipment and without know the extent of his injuries—”

“Claire,” the man behind him said, “he’s got an artificial intelligence that probably just read off the injuries to him.” The woman crouched down again next to Peter, checking his pulse and muttering something very vulgar about her companion.

“Analyzing,” Friday said as Tony shushed the others. He heard footsteps and turned, seeing the masked man walking up to them. He held out his hands in a peaceful gesture.

“Mr. Stark,” he said, calmly. “There are some things I think you need to know—”

“Did you have anything to do with this?” Tony snarled.

The vigilante sighed heavily. “An associate of mine brought him to me, after a request of an associate of his.”

“Well that’s not vague and confusing at all,” Tony said, sarcastically.

“This is a different world. We aren’t all Iron Man. Most of us don’t have the protection of billions of dollars, and even some of the best lawyers would have a hard time picking apart those Accords, despite how unconstitutional they are,” the other man snapped back. “So forgive me for protecting the identities of those who would be quick to suffer Secretary Ross’s wrath.”

“Not you, too!” Tony yelled. “Look, I’m doing my best with them, okay? Nobody is going to be sent to any kind of prison until they make more sense. I’ve got mutants in high places looking them over—”

“Enhanced peoples,” the masked man corrected. Tony rolled his eyes. “Does Spidey know that no one is going to be imprisoned until they’re sorted?” he pressed.

Tony paused. “Why—well, I mean, he’s asked and I’ve told him not to worry. But it doesn’t matter. He stops bike thieves, for God’s sake—”

“He’s in something way over his head, and has been for almost a year now, if I figured out the timing right,” the masked man interrupted.

“Mike,” the woman from the floor called. “Don’t be an asshole. Stark needs you to get the point.”

“Boss,” Friday chimed in. Tony held up a finger for silence. “I do not detect any fractures in Peter’s neck or possibility of damage to his spinal cord if he’s moved. As long as he is kept fairly still, it should be safe.”

“Send out Mark XLII. When it gets here, we’ll load him in. Also, call Cho. Let her know we need her at the Tower ASAP.” Tony was glad he held off on actually putting the building up sale until after he started moving everything over. There was still an active medical wing there. Tony hadn’t moved the equipment or beds. He told Pepper it was because he wanted to add a certain usefulness to the aesthetic of the place for potential buyers. He was pretty sure she knew he was keeping them there in case of a spider-related emergency. “Also, tell her we need the fancy meds that we use on Steve, alright?”

“Got it.”

“You were saying, Mike? About Spidey being in over his head?” Tony asked waving his hand for Mike to continue.

Mike’s frown deepened. “What do you know about the Kingpin?” Tony stared at Mike blankly. Then he shook his head. Mike nodded. “Well, that’s what most people know, so I’m not surprised. I’ve been trying to reign this guy in for months. He’s—he’s bad news. He controls nearly every crime syndicate in Manhattan, and he’s been stretching out into the other Burroughs. Pretty soon, he’ll have the whole city under his thumb if he’s not stopped.”

Tony shook his head. “So call the cops with what you know.”

“Typical,” Mike said, shaking his head. “It’s not an alien, or a super-powered bad guy, so it’s not your problem, right? It won’t touch _you_ , after all.”

“Hey—” Tony said, beginning to step toward Mike.

Mike took a step back and fell into a loose stance, prepared to fight a battle he probably knew he couldn’t win. “He owns the cops. He owns hospitals. He owns politicians. He has everyone he needs in his pocked to stay on top. Going to the cops won’t do anything.”

Tony sighed and stepped back, then opened the suit and stepped out. “Okay,” he said, calmly. “So this guy is pretty untouchable, am I right?” Mike nodded, still holding his body in a fighting position. “I’m not looking to fight, masked wonder. I just want to keep my kid safe. So what does the Kingpin have to do with him?”

Mike relaxed, a thoughtful frown gracing his features. “I have it on good authority your kid works for him.”

Tony barked out a laugh. “Yeah, right. The Spiderling works for a crime boss? Not on your life.”

“He’s all but confessed to it,” Mike went on. “All his targets in Hell’s Kitchen have been the people who know things about the Kingpin, and who ran away, ready to spill. So far, only one guy escaped, and that’s because I helped him. Before I realized Spidey was a kid, I was targeting him to try to take him out.” Tony scowled and took a step back towards his suit.

“I stopped!” Mike growled. “I stopped when I realized—look, haven’t you noticed anything? Anything weird with his behavior?” Tony paused, thinking on what Mike was saying. Hadn’t he been wondering about this since he met the kid? Hadn’t he thought about it when the kid had his breakdown earlier? “Maybe he tells lies or half-truths? Or he’s places he’s not supposed to be?”

_“I can’t believe how well you played me. I didn’t think that could happen again, you know? I thought I wised up.”_

“If you don’t believe me, ask him when he wakes up. He’ll fight you, but I think he’s run out of places to go, if he actually did what I was told he did. Then again, I could be wrong,” Mike shrugged. “But just in case I’m right, you better get his loved ones somewhere safe, because the Kingpin doesn’t just kill you when you betray him. If he finds out this kid is alive—and he will—then he’s going to come after him.” Mike said emphatically. “He’s going to find him, he’s going to keep him somewhere, alive and trapped, and he’s going to kill his family.” Tony shuddered at the coolness of his tone. “He’s going to do it where the kid can see it but can’t do anything about it, and he’s not going to do it because he has to. Most likely, that kid kept his Kingpin business under wraps. No. Kingpin’s going to do it because he _can._ ”

Tony gaped at the vigilante, heart pounding in his chest. He turned around and climbed back in his suit. After it closed around him, he called Happy.

“Yeah boss?” Happy answered.

“Hap, I need that kid’s aunt with you as soon as possible. How far out are you to their place?” Tony asked with as much calm as he could muster.

“Uh—I can be there in about fifteen minutes if I push it,” he responded. There was the sound of several horns, indicating Happy may have maneuvered a little less safely than the others liked.

“As soon as you can, Hap, and be cautious. It’s possible she’s being targeted.”

Some more horns blared in his ear. “Got it. I can be there in ten.” The line disconnected. Mike nodded in approval and Tony shrugged. Of course he would take a threat to the kid and the kid’s family seriously, no matter how ludicrous the claim.

Tony looked up when he heard the sound of repulsor jets coming toward them. “That’s for us,” he said. Mike nodded again as an empty suit flew into the open warehouse doors. It came to a standstill right in front of Peter. Tony frowned then walked over to the boy, stooped down and very carefully lifted him up, making sure to support his neck and head. Friday said he was safe to move, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Claire stood up and followed him, watching him like a hawk as he gently set Peter into the now open suit. As he maneuvered the kid’s limbs, Claire started strapping him in tightly, noticing the safety belts inside.

“You have to be careful,” she said. “I don’t know what your stupid robot told you, but he is very fragile right now, and he needs medical help as soon as possible.” She was stern, but Tony could see the compassion in her eyes. She hated this, and she hated not being able to help even more.

“Thank you,” Tony replied. Friday snapped the suit shut. “Alright, Friday, get him to the medical wing in the Tower. I also need to call Happy in a minute and have him ask Aunt Hottie who else is important to the kid. We may need to take a couple of detours on the way back. Any word from Cho?”

“She is less than ten minutes away from the facility, boss,” Friday replied. “She was already in the area for an engagement.”

“Oh, she’s going to kill me,” Tony muttered. He turned back to the masked vigilante who called him here in the first place. “Well Mike, I’m not saying I like this, and I’m not saying I trust you, but I think you saved my kid, so I owe you one.” He waved and started to walk out of the warehouse, ready to call Happy.

“Stark,” Mike said as Tony started leaving, “Do you know if that kid has a job or an internship anywhere? In his personal life?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m not telling you if he does. His identity is secret for a reason, and I’m definitely not giving clues to another guy that runs around in a mask. Not without some quid pro quo.”

Mike let out an agitated sigh. “Fine. But look there. Look at whoever that kid works for, because I’m certain he’s the Kingpin.”

_Wilson Fisk?_ “Why?” Tony asked.

“That kid—look, he came to my office once. I don’t know his name because he refused to give it, but he came as an intern with another person, and they were seeking my services for their employer. He doesn’t know that I’m—the man he met that day. But I do know that I later got information that the person who hired me was definitely the Kingpin, and I know that kid works for him as both himself and Spider-Man,” Mike said. His tone left no room for argument.

There was no way. Mike the masked man didn’t have a clue. Tony frowned as he stared at him, gauging the seriousness of his expression.

Wilson Fisk was a philanthropist. He had about a hundred charities he donated to every year, and he had about ten that he ran himself. Hell, his programs for youths in the city needing rehabilitation and later assistance gave Tony some ideas for his September Foundation. Mike seemed sure though, and he didn’t seem to have any biases that would point him to or away from Fisk, seeing as he didn’t even know his name.

“I’ll look into it, Mike,” Tony said. He waved as he took off, heading towards Queens as he called Happy.

It couldn’t hurt to check Fisk out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Writing Notes:
> 
> 1\. Hi Tony. Nice of you to show up. 
> 
> 2\. So many adults don’t take children and adolescents anxiety very seriously. The thing is, Tony is aware enough to know that yes, Peter—who is prone to panic attacks and fits of anxiety—had a breakdown on that rooftop. But he sees Peter as a child, and children are not supposed to have breakdowns. He’s trying to lower the reaction in his own mind, because he’s already worried enough…. I’m not sure that came across. I kept rereading it and thought he seemed unsympathetic. He’s not, I promise. He just lacks emotional awareness. 
> 
> 3\. So I knew people would be wondering where Tony was, but the amount of people who wondered where Matt was? You guys. That was amazing. He wasn’t even originally supposed to be included, then he became this weirdly important piece of the plot, so I’m so excited that people want to see him. I was worried when I wrote this. I thought people would be upset at him and Tony sharing a scene, so I’m glad people like them both in this caregiving role I have them in for Peter. 
> 
> 4.[ Claire Temple](https://hips.hearstapps.com/digitalspyuk.cdnds.net/18/42/1539686212-1539259734-daredevil-rosario-dawson.jpg?resize=480:*) is one of the characters that is supposed to be the Night Nurse. In the comics (earth 616) the Night Nurse is actually Linda Carter. If your enhanced and wear a mask, she’s the one who will patch you up. Claire took that role in the Netflix Daredevil series. In the comics, she’s a doctor who has treated several vigilantes [ including Spider-Man.](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/marveldatabase/images/d/dd/Claire_Temple_%28Earth-616%29_from_Marvel_Team-Up_-123.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20150917151438) She’s a badass. 
> 
> 5\. Hey I brought that warehouse back! I also forgot to mention this before. I’m not sure how many of you ever played [ Ecco the Dolphin](https://steamcdn-a.akamaihd.net/steam/apps/34274/ss_ab815178de31d88a72ae35a48d9c7918c5fe974d.1920x1080.jpg?t=1549028427) back in the day. I… I don’t know why I had a warehouse specifically for that game instead of Sega, but… well. My childhood. You’re welcome. ;-)
> 
> 6\. Of course Matt could hear Friday. Matt can hear everything.
> 
> 7\. Honestly, I just picked a random suit to carry Peter. Don’t look into it. I was halfway tempted to have Tony send out a prototype medical suit he was designing, but what about glitches? And I was talking to my husband and he said “Tony would just pick him up and carry him. He’s not a medical dude.” But I have a nurse here who would lose her shit and tell him what for. So. You know. Random Iron Man suit. 
> 
> Hope everyone enjoyed this one! I may do *one* more Tony POV. Peter can only have so much bad luck right? Come holler at me, [ hanuko,](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr about my fics, prompts, or just about anything. 
> 
> Please leave a kudos if you enjoyed, and let me know your thoughts with your comments. Thanks for reading! :-)


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You lucid now, kid?” Peter turned his head slowly in the direction the soft voice came from. Mr. Stark sat in a soft, cushiony armchair that was right next to Peter’s bed. Peter carefully catalogued his surroundings, trying to figure out why Mr. Stark was with him. There was an IV bag to his right and several pieces of machinery, humming away. Other than the buzz of electricity, all of them were blessedly quiet. The room smelled clean, but not sterile. Not a hospital, then._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there!
> 
> Sorry for the delay. For those of you who don't follow me on Tumblr, I had to take a minibreak because I just got a promotion. I work in social services and with everything going on with COVID-19, it's been absolutely crazy at work. What a time to start a new position, right? I hope all of you and yours are doing okay during this trying time. Remember to keep loving each other, try to keep each other safe, and if you're hoarding toilet paper and your neighbor runs out, please be kind and give a roll. ;-)
> 
> At any rate, here is the next chapter. I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. I hope you all enjoy it!

He was underwater.

No. No, that wasn’t right. He wouldn’t be breathing if he was underwater.

He went underwater though. He dove down into the dark and cold, then someone pulled him up.

Right?

But that couldn’t be right. He got tangled in his blankets again. That’s why his limbs were so heavy and his head felt like it was submerged. He was just dreaming. He was dry and breathing.

Was he breathing?

He drew in a sharp gasp, which assured him momentarily before pain set in. He _hurt._ His legs and arms radiated little sharp pinpricks in random spots. His hand was hot along his knuckles down to his wrist, but his fingers were freezing. His shoulders felt like they froze up and would never stretch out again. His chest was the worst, though. The pain pulsed from somewhere deep inside on his right side, and the intensity of the sensation made him want to curl against it. Something wouldn’t let him though. Something was pressing his arms and legs flat against the bed. He moaned and jerked, trying to free himself.

“Hey, hey—” a voice. Someone was talking to him. He turned his head and blinked his eyes open. The lights were too bright. There were sounds everywhere but somehow, they were muffled, as if his ears were stuffed up. A dark spot swam in front of him before he blinked again, making out a blurry face. A man with a scruffy brown beard and warm, green-blue eyes was talking to him. He wore some kind a blue shower cap on his head. He tried to talk to the stranger, but his tongue wouldn’t cooperate, so all that came out was a vague whine.

His hand—the one that didn’t hurt—was lifted up. It was being held up near his own head, as if to reassure him that is was still there, and he wasn’t being restrained. He felt tears prickle in his eyes as he watched the man’s mouth move, trying to make sense of the sounds he was making.

“I know, Peter. Shh, you’re okay,” he said. His eyes were earnest and Peter held onto them with his as if it were a lifeline. Peter was in agony. He hurt so much and just wanted it to stop. “You’re okay, Peter. You’re fine. I promise, you’re just fine.”

* * *

It was dark.

There was some kind of hissing to his right, and a quiet electric hum surrounded his head.

He carefully drew in a breath, and smelt apples mixed with vanilla that vaguely reminded him of being cozy and warm and safe. He let out a little sigh and turned his head to the side, slowly opening his eyes.

May stood next to him, her hands on the metal rail of his bed. Peter furrowed his eyebrows then looked up at May’s face. Her glasses sparkled on her face, and her dark hair shined in the golden light that pooled around her. Peter smiled, so relieved and happy to see his aunt that he didn’t even care that she glowed. She looked extra pretty this way anyway.

“May?” he croaked. His throat felt raw, and he wondered if May even heard him with how scratchy his voice was.

May’s lip seemed to quiver, but she smiled and gently ran her fingers through his hair. “Oh, Peter,” she said, softly. Peter frowned. May sounded sad. He hated when she sounded sad.

“May,” he mumbled, lifting his hand up and catching her free one with it. She ran her thumb over his knuckles. “May, don’t be sad. You’re too shiny to be sad now.” Peter didn’t know why he said it, except he just thought she needed to know that Peter _never_ wanted her to be sad. It made his heart hurt when she was sad, just like she said hers did when he was sad. And also, did she even know that she was glowing? Did she get bit by a radioactive firefly? Could fireflies even bite people?

May raised her eyebrows and let out a little laugh. “I’ve never heard of fireflies biting people, _bambino_ ,” she said. Peter smacked his lips, not thinking much of May’s ability to read his mind. Maybe fireflies were telepathic the way spiders were precognitive. At least, Peter figured they were precognitive, otherwise, why was he?

“My lips feel funny,” he heard himself say. They tingled and sat weirdly on his face. He pushed air through them and laughed as they buzzed together. He looked back over at May when she let go of his hand, bereft at the loss. “May?” he asked, seeing her wipe at her cheeks. “May, why are you crying?”

May sniffled and grinned broadly at him. Peter stared at her. Her smile wasn’t quite right, but it was reassuring all the same. “I’m just so, so _happy_ to see you, honey,” she said, grabbing his hand again. Peter felt himself relax back into the pillows behind him.

“I’m tired,” he mumbled. His eyelids felt heavy.

“Then go to sleep,” May said, soothingly, still petting his curls.

“Okay,” he murmured as his eyes fell shut. “Love you, May.”

“I love you too, sweetie.”

* * *

There was pain again. Pain pushing up and out of his chest, making him whine and writhe. Every time he moved the pain got worse. Then he felt it all over again. Prickles turned to stabs in his legs. His shoulders were so tense he didn’t think they’d ever move again. He gasped and blinked his eyes open, wondering at the dull throb he felt on his face, now. A bell started chiming in his room, piercing his ears and splitting his head wide open. It was too much, all at once. Peter let out a sob.

“It’s okay, kiddo,” a woman in green scrubs was standing next to him, fiddling with a tube that was hanging from his IV bag. In the dim light, Peter noticed that she looked vaguely like Miles’s mom. Warmth flooded his limbs and he felt his eyes roll back in his head as sweet relief coursed through him.

* * *

Peter opened his eyes. The sun was shining through his window and Peter could see pigeons hopping along the edge of the sill. His eyelids felt heavy and difficult to keep open, but Peter managed, shifting up. He winced as a dull pain throbbed everywhere. Peter’s lips felt dry and his mouth seemed stuck shut. He carefully licked his lips, trying to loosen them enough to open.

“You lucid now, kid?” Peter turned his head slowly in the direction the soft voice came from. Mr. Stark sat in a soft, cushiony armchair that was right next to Peter’s bed. Peter carefully catalogued his surroundings, trying to figure out why Mr. Stark was with him. There was an IV bag to his right and several pieces of machinery, humming away. Other than the buzz of electricity, all of them were blessedly quiet. The room smelled clean, but not sterile. Not a hospital, then.

“Where am I?” he asked, hoarsely. The cobwebs slowly receded from his brain, and with it his body’s pain felt more pronounced. Peter winced. It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t as bad as the last time he was stuck in a hospital-type-thing.

Mr. Stark leaned forward and studied him carefully. “How’s your pain?” he asked.

Peter blinked and opened his mouth slightly, not sure how to answer.

“Are you thirsty?” Mr. Stark continued. “Do you need anything?”

Peter waited a beat and nodded slowly. “I—um—can I have some water?” Mr. Stark got up and darted over to a sink in the room. A pitcher sat there. Mr. Stark carefully poured some water from it into a paper cup and came back, holding it out for Peter to take. Peter lifted his arm and winced, then whined when Mr. Stark pulled the cup away.

“Sorry, sorry,” Mr. Stark said, running back to the sink area. “I’m not good at this,” he mumbled. When he came back, he was carefully holding the cup near Peter’s mouth. This time, a straw was poking out of it. Peter leaned forward and carefully took a sip through the straw. The water was shockingly cold, and he drank a bit more quickly, not realizing how thirsty he was. All too soon, the cup was pulled away from him again. “Let’s just give that a minute, okay Underoos? I don’t want you to get sick.”

Peter sighed and nodded, leaning back. He scrapped his tongue against his teeth, frowning at the dry film he felt. A bitter taste clung to the back of his throat and coated his tongue. _God,_ he never wanted a toothbrush so badly in his _life._ Mr. Stark was fiddling with Peter’s IV, then glancing at his watch. “Kiddo, how’s your pain? You’re about due for another dose, but I need to talk to you for a minute. It can wait, though.”

Peter sighed and leaned back, trying to relax his body. “A dose of what? Nothing works on me.”

“Oh really?” Mr. Stark asked with a raised eyebrow. “And what makes you think that?”

Peter felt his eyes shut as he tried to block out what his weary body was feeling. “Last time I was in the hospital. May said they couldn’t give me anymore medicine because it wasn’t working and would make me sick,” he mumbled. He heard a sharp intake of breath and opened an eye, peering at Mr. Stark. He seemed a bit paler, hearing that. “It’s fine. I heal fast.”

“You,” Mr. Stark started then stopped. He smiled incredulously and shook his head. “You heal fast? So what, it’s okay for you to just deal with it?” Peter shrugged then winced. “Unbelievable,” Mr. Stark scoffed. Peter frowned and felt his pulse racing. Everything was jumbled. He remembered a plane and a fight that he was losing. He remembered racing back to his apartment and being ambushed. He remembered Aaron, holding him up and looking at him with so much regret. He remembered dust and rubble and being trapped. He remembered Ben.

_May!_

Peter sat up suddenly and hissed at the pull on his muscles. He still didn’t know where he was. He had no idea how to get to her.

“Whoa, Underoos, calm down—”

“Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark I have to get my aunt, please. She’s not safe. I have to go and get her—”

“She’s fine, Peter,” Mr. Stark said, softly. Peter shook his head. Mr. Stark didn’t know. He didn’t know about the Kingpin. He didn’t know what Mr. Fisk was like. May wasn’t safe.

“No, Mr. Stark, you don’t understand!” Peter said, desperately. He tried to ring his hands together, but as soon as they touched, he realized his right one was covered in bandages.

“Oh, I think I understand plenty,” Mr. Stark said. “I understand I’ve got a teenage vigilante who won’t listen to reason on my hands,” he said, frowning. Peter winced. “I understand that I’ve got a kid here who lies to me.” Peter leaned back, away from Mr. Stark’s accusing eyes. “But you know what I don’t understand?” Mr. Stark looked so angry. “I don’t understand how Spider-Man, you know, the one who looks out for the little guy? I don’t understand how Spider-Man ended up working for a crime boss.” Peter blanched. A cool sweat broke out all over his body. Mr. Stark _knew._ “Want to enlighten me?”

Peter’s eyes darted around the room, looking for an exit. His arm might be out of commission and his body was sore, but he was pretty sure he’d be able to get out of the window before Mr. Stark could restrain him. He really didn’t want to fight Iron Man; even if he was at his best it was scary to think about. If he got out now, he could find a way back to Queens to find May. He just hoped he wasn’t too late

“Kid? Kid!” Peter’s eyes snapped back to Mr. Stark’s. The fury was gone, replaced with remorse. “Hey, calm down, okay? Just—take a breath. I shouldn’t have said that.” Peter blinked, his body tense and still, ready to jump away at a moment’s notice. Mr. Stark leaned back and held his hands up so Peter could see them. “I’m not going to do anything, okay? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I’m not angry with you, okay?”

Peter felt the adrenaline slowly trickle out of him as he reclined back against the pillows, incrementally. His wary eyes never left Mr. Stark’s. “Sir,” he said, his voice cracking. He blinked quickly trying to keep tears out of his eyes. “Please, I need to get May.”

“She’s already here,” Mr. Stark said, easily. Peter’s mouth opened and shut. He shook his head. Mr. Stark was lying to him to keep him—wherever he was. “Look, see her bag over there?” Peter cautiously turned his head in the direction Mr. Stark was pointing. May’s large, fabric, blue-paisley purse was sitting on a squishy couch near the window.

“She’s been by your side for hours,” the billionaire continued. “I just managed to convince her to go and take a minute so she could grab a shower.” Peter let out a careful sigh. There wasn’t any reason for Mr. Stark to have May’s bag. That meant she was here. Then a new worry popped up. Now that May was okay, he remembered his best friends weren’t.

“Ned and MJ—”

“Buh-buh-buh,” Mr. Stark interrupted, holding up his hand to quiet Peter. “The Leeds family, Jones family, and Davis-Morales family are all here and accounted for.”

Davis-Morales? Peter frowned. Miles would be safe. Peter never mentioned how close they got to Mr. Wesley, and Aaron never would. Miles was leverage against him, not Peter, and he would never put Miles in even more danger by telling Mr. Fisk anything about him.

“What?” he asked, trying to wrap his head around it all.

“The Leeds were perfectly willing to come along, and when your friend Miles saw me it took no effort convincing his parents to get here. Mr. and Mrs. Jones, though—well. That was an interesting situation,” Mr. Stark shrugged. “As for Miss Allan, she and her mom weren’t at home, but that may be because you just gave Mr. Toomes to the police.”

Peter blinked. They’re here? he wondered. The anxiety that was filling him started to ease. If they were here, they were safe, and Liz wouldn’t be a target. Mr. Fisk didn’t know anything about her as far as Peter knew.

“You’ve got some interesting friends,” Mr. Stark went on. “Mike-the-Masked-Man seemed to think it was important I get them all out of danger because of this Kingpin guy.” Peter’s lips pressed together. “Pete,” Mr. Stark said, gently putting a hand on his knee. Peter stared at it before shifting his attention to a loose thread on his blanket. “Pete, I went through the recordings in your suit. I know you’re working for the Kingpin.” Peter closed his eyes tightly and sniffled. “But my only lead doesn’t make any sense, and I don’t think it will unless you tell me what happened.”

Peter started trembling and shook his head, slowly. Mr. Stark couldn’t help him. If he opened his mouth, they were all dead. Peter didn’t even care about being imprisoned for the rest of his life. Sure, maybe now his friends would be safe, but how long would Mr. Stark protect his family and friends from his stupid mistake? It wasn’t his job, after all. He made it perfectly clear to Peter how easy it was to leave him high and dry. Peter couldn’t risk his family anymore than he already had.

“I’m not working for anyone,” he whispered, the lie sounding hollow in his ears.

Mr. Stark sighed and leaned forward. “I went through the recordings, Peter,” he repeated. “I know that you’ve called people for the Kingpin. I’ve heard that come out of your own mouth. When I looked up the Westley guy you kept calling, I couldn’t find anyone that would have ties to a crime lord and you.” Peter sighed, not bothering to correct Mr. Stark about Mr. Wesley’s name. “I’m out of places to go, kid. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me who it is.”

Peter shook his head again, more firmly this time. Didn’t Mr. Stark understand? He couldn’t tell him.

“Look at me. Hey, eyes up, come on,” Peter carefully lifted his head and stared into Mr. Stark’s eyes. They were dark and warm, and he wore a worried expression. Peter felt those stupid tears stinging his eyes again. He was really, really sore now, and just wanted to sleep.

“I know we had some rough spots,” Mr. Stark said, softly. “A lot of that is my fault. I—I should have known that for you it wasn’t about the suit. For me, I—well, if I lost my suit I would be grounded for a while. It would take me a bit to get what I needed to get back in the air,” Mr. Stark said, shaking his head ruefully.

“I’m enhanced,” Peter said, nonchalantly. Of course it would be harder for Tony to get back out if he lost his suit. It would take a while to build a new one. Peter’s abilities were all his own. “I never needed it in the first place,” he continued.

“Yeah, you didn’t, but not because of your abilities,” Mr. Stark said, giving him a small smile. Peter furrowed his eyebrows. Mr. Stark sighed. “I was scared, kid. I was scared when I found you on that ferry, trying to hold it together with nothing but your hands.” He looked away to gather his thoughts before he looked back at Peter. “Every time I came by, every time I _called_ —it was because I was worried. When your parachute deployed and I was out of the country, I nearly had a heart attack. I was just hopeful my suit would get to you in time.”

Peter opened and closed his mouth, blinking in confusion. “Why?”

“What do you mean?” Mr. Stark asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Why were you worried about me? I don’t understand.” Peter didn’t. He _couldn’t._ There was nothing about him that was special, except his abilities. Now that Mr. Stark knew he couldn’t really control Peter, and now that he knew that Peter was doing such awful things with his powers, what motive could he possibly have to worry over Peter’s wellbeing? What could Peter possibly do for Iron Man, now?

Mr. Stark stared at him, baffled. “Why wouldn’t I worry about you?”

Peter shrugged then winced, cursing himself for pulling the muscles again. “I don’t—Mr. Stark I did bad things,” he whispered, lip trembling. Slowly his vision blurred as the tears he was holding back started to push forward. “And I didn’t listen to you, and I’m probably not gonna listen to you all that much, to be honest. What—what use am I to you?”

Mr. Stark stared at him blankly before moving his hand from Peter’s knee to his own hand. He let it hover over Peter’s until Peter carefully turned his over and reached up, indicating the touch was okay. It wasn’t often people held his hand, anymore. He found it comforting. It wasn’t suffocating like a hug, but it was more than a nudge or a pat on the shoulder. It made him feel a little less lonely.

“Kid,” Mr. Stark started. He swallowed and grimaced, then smoothed out his face before starting again. “Peter,” he said instead. “You don’t need to be useful for me to worry about you.” Peter’s eyebrows drew together. “You’re a great kid. You’re smart and funny and kind. I know when I first met you, it was because of Spider-Man. But let me tell you, kid, the greatest thing about you is _you._ Not your mask.” Peter’s breath hitched and tears started falling from his eyes. “I worry about you because I like you, and I want to help you be the best because I look at you, and I see something so much more than me, and I can’t help but want to be a part of that.”

Peter sniffled then grimaced as his face throbbed. He didn’t know anything anymore. Mr. Stark was lying. He was lying to get something from him. That’s how people worked. They waited until he was down, then seemed to throw him a lifeline. Sure, Mr. Stark didn’t _seem_ to have a reason to lie to him, but Peter never thought Mr. Fisk did, either. There was something off though. There was something that had always been different between Iron Man and Mr. Fisk that Peter could never put his finger on. The thought made a little corner of his heart beg Peter to trust Tony—Mr. Stark. It promised him that this time, it would be different. This time it would be okay. After all, Iron Man was a hero.

_Mr. Fisk is supposed to a kind of hero, too,_ a nasty voice whispered in the back of his head. What was it? What was it that Mr. Stark had that Mr. Fisk didn’t? What was so different that had Peter trusting him out of instinct? Even when he first met Fisk he was weary and on edge, before he ever had any reason to be. But with Tony it wasn’t like that. With him the trust was inherent. Peter knew he wouldn’t be hurt.

Peter whined and reclined back, careful not to grip Tony’s fingers too hard. He closed his eyes and breathed shallowly, trying to redirect the new surge of pain that went through him. He just wanted this interrogation to end so he could go to sleep. Mr. Stark wouldn’t let it go, though. He’d stay here and poke and prod at Peter until he agreed before giving him relief. That’s what happened last time, after all. Mr. Wesley pulled the exact same trick. Peter was familiar with this game.

“You alright, kiddo?” Tony asked “What am I saying. Of course you’re not.” Peter opened his eyes and saw Tony hit the call button on his bed. “It’s really bad now, isn’t it?” Peter blinked and made a questioning noise. “Your pain? I don’t care if you think you can deal with it. I’ve got Capsicle’s magic pain killers, recently adjusted to work a little better with your metabolism so you won’t need as high a dose. They’ll help you sleep.”

“What?” Peter asked. “But—but I never told you—I never answered your—why?”

Tony stared at him, aghast. “Pete,” he said slowly, “you’re in pain. I have the means to end that pain. What kind of monster would tell you tough luck because you didn’t answer a question? That’s just wrong.”

A nurse bustled in, unwrapping a new syringe and opening a small bottle. The thought that he would get relief without having to jump through hoops was startling. The lights were too bright for his eyes, the machines were too loud for his ears, and his body was screaming at him to lie back and try to sleep, despite the fact that his nerve endings were on fire. Really, the only reprieve was in his head. His spider-sense had been quiet the whole time he was awake. The lack of buzzing between his ears and prickles down his neck was incredible. It was surprising, too, because it was rarely… quiet.

“Wait,” he said as the nurse was about to load the syringe. The nurse looked between him and Tony. “Can I—I just—can you go for another minute, please?” he asked her. Tony shrugged and nodded, giving his permission. The woman frowned, putting the medicine back in her pocket and discarding the needle.

“Just hit the button again when you’re ready for me,” she said as she left the room. Peter waited until her footsteps fully disappeared before he turned to Tony again. Tony stared at him with lowered brows. Peter let his eyes rove over the man, looking for something, _anything,_ to tell him he was about to make a very terrible decision.

He didn’t find it though. All he could see was concern and earnestness. All he could hear was his low, steady breathing. All he could feel, besides the pain his body was in, was a sense of quiet security. There were no claxons going off in his head, telling him that danger was coming. He was being given medicine designed to help people like him when they got hurt. Mr. Stark even made sure the machines weren’t beeping and buzzing, to try to allow Peter’s enhanced senses to catch a break while he recovered. It came to him, clear as a bell. Something he intrinsically knew during each of their encounters. Something he knew the whole time they were in this room together, without anything having to be said. Something he thought about in passing while Tony asked his questions.

Peter _knew_ without a doubt that Tony wouldn’t hurt him.

Peter knew because his spider-sense knew. His spider-sense knew all along, from the first moment he met Tony. It was quiet. It was quiet and happy and soothed whenever Tony was around, just like with May or Ned or MJ or Miles. It knew that Tony would never try to bring him harm. That meant that Tony never _intended_ to bring him harm.

That was the difference between him and Fisk.

“I—I’m scared,” he stuttered, gripping his blanket with his good hand. Tony nodded and didn’t say anything, allowing Peter to work up his own courage. “I’m really, _really_ scared, Mr. Stark. This guy—he controls _everything._ No one can stop him—”

“Well, until now, Iron Man didn’t know he had to try,” Tony said, gently. “And you know, I’m a pretty skilled superhero, if I do say so myself.”

Peter bit his lip before resolving himself. He had to tell him. He had to say something.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter said, feeling his heart quicken in his chest at what he was about to do. “I—I do work for the Kingpin. I’ve worked with him closely enough that I—I know who he really is.” He blinked back a new wave of tears. _Time to finish it, Parker._

“The Kingpin is Wilson Fisk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually don't really have any fun writing notes for this chapter. Sorry for those of you who like them.
> 
> Let me know what you thought. I love seeing your comments. :-) Or come holler at me over on [Tumblr.](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Yeah,” Peter said dopily. “This is crazy,” he said, drawing out each word. “It makes my lips all tingly. Tickly?” he scrunched his nose up and winced. “Ow,” he muttered, gently touching the bruising under his eyes._
> 
> _“Broken nose, remember?” Tony said._
> 
> _“No, not broken anymore,” Peter mumbled. “Broken nose heals after about twelve hours. The bruising takes a couple of days to fade though. Isn’t that weird? I think it’s because of the cardi—cartel—careta—the squishy-not-bone part.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Hello! I'm back with an update!
> 
> And hey! Over 400 Kudos? What? For this niche thing? I LOVE it! My little heart is going to explode with glee and feels!
> 
> Sorry about the wait. Things have been crazy. At work they say, "Go home! Come back! Go home again!" and isolation is not good for me mentally, y'all. I mean, I'm an introvert, but there's a big difference between _choosing_ to stay home and _having_ to stay home. 
> 
> I hope you all are staying safe and healthy. 
> 
> Here's the new chapter for you!

Tony slowly shook his head, watching the kid wave his unbroken hand in front of his face, giggling. He knew he should be thankful that Peter wasn’t waving his broken hand around, or—heaven forbid—trying to get out of bed, but he was being ridiculous.

“Geez, Underoos. That stuff really kicked in, huh?”

It was a sharp contrast to the mood in the room only a few minutes before. Tony was still trying to grasp the magnitude of what Peter told him. The fact that Wilson Fisk—a standup guy and a hero to working class people of New York, as well as a giant in reform for criminal youth—was actually a crime boss was mindboggling. But he couldn’t doubt the sincerity of Peter’s words, not when it was the first time Tony had ever seen a truly honest expression on him. The kid cried and shivered while he told Tony what happened. He told him about finding his uncle’s killer and nearly shooting him, but he was stopped just in time by Wesley ( _not Westley, Mr. Stark, there’s no “t” in his name_ ). He told him how Fisk practically gave Peter a paid internship after Peter did some carpentry work in a house he was remodeling, no strings. He told Tony how he was manipulated into offering his services as Spider-Man. He told Tony he was catching criminals like normal, but instead of giving them to the cops, he’d give them to Fisk because he thought the man just wanted to talk to them. Peter explained that by the time he realized what was going on, he was in too deep and couldn’t work his way out. Between Fisk’s threats about the giving Peter’s identity up because of the Accords and harming his family, he was trapped.

Tony was shocked into silence, and when the nurse came back in with a new syringe, she clearly felt the tension in the room. She looked between the two of them, and quietly asked Tony if she could give Peter his dose. He gestured for her to give him the medicine, still too stunned to make words. It was almost a relief once the medicine started working. Peter relaxed and stopped crying before laughing about how weird the medicine made him feel.

“Yeah,” Peter said dopily. “This is crazy,” he said, drawing out each word. “It makes my lips all tingly. Tickly?” he scrunched his nose up and winced. “Ow,” he muttered, gently touching the bruising under his eyes.

“Broken nose, remember?” Tony said.

“No, not broken anymore,” Peter mumbled. “Broken nose heals after about twelve hours. The bruising takes a couple of days to fade though. Isn’t that weird? I think it’s because of the cardi—cartel—careta—the squishy-not-bone part.”

Tony let out a chuckle over Peter’s stutter when his words caught up to him. “Wait, how do you know that? Some bicycle thief get the jump on you?”

“Nah,” Peter said, nonchalantly. “Had my nose broke loads of times.” He dropped his hand and started picking at his blanket. “Mr. Fisk broke it, once.”

Tony tensed and tried to keep his relaxed posture. “He did?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, when I realized who he actually was. He got really mad because I didn’t do something, and he knocked me around because of it.”

“He knocked you around?” Tony asked numbly. Peter shrugged in response and looked out his window, staring at the pigeon that was hopping around on the sill.

“Uh-huh. My spider-sense was out of whack, so he managed to get the jump on me. That was—that was scary.” He shook his head slightly. “Pigeons are so cool. Did you know pigeons have three-hundred-and-sixty-degree vision? Nobody can sneak up behind them.”

“Wait, back up,” Tony said, holding up a hand, “I’m still stuck on you getting knocked around because your spider-sense wasn’t working.” Peter stared at him blankly. “First of all, you should not have been knocked around, period.”

Peter nodded, slowly. “I know, Mr. Stark. Mr. Fisk is a bad guy. They do things they aren’t supposed to.” He spoke as if he were talking to a small child. Tony rolled his eyes.

“What is this spider-sense? What does that do?”

“Oh!” Peter grinned. “I forgot I didn’t tell you about it. It’s this sixth sense that I have. It’s kind of like, a danger sense? I get a warning when something bad is about to happen.” Tony’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “It doesn’t always work. Sometimes, especially if I’ve been hurt, it buzzes all the time, and other times, when I’m really tired, it kicks in too late. It’s been pretty useful, though. It even gives me warnings about people, sometimes, if they intend any kind of harm.” Peter frowned again.

“What’s wrong?” Tony asked, gently. Peter shrugged and picked at his blanket again, then he lifted his head when the door clicked open. He grinned brightly.

“May!” He called as his aunt entered the room. May Parker smiled as she approached, her hair tied back in a damp braid. There was a water trail staining the back of her red tee-shirt. “You’re not shiny anymore!”

“Hey, sweetie,” she said, coming to the side of his bed. Tony looked up at her and mouthed, _shiny?_ She shrugged and shook her head. “I’m glad you’re awake. How are you feeling today?”

“Ugh,” Peter groaned, laying his head back. “I was sore, but the nurse-lady who isn’t Miles’s mom came in and gave me a shot of this stuff, and now things are super fuzzy. But I can’t tell if they’re good fuzzy or bad fuzzy.”

May smiled and ran her hand through Peter’s hair. The kid closed his eyes and leaned into the touch like a cat. “Well, are you sore?” Peter hummed and shook his head. “Then it’s probably good fuzzy.” A tense silence fell over the three of them. Tony grabbed a remote off his table and turned on the television set he had brought into the room that night. “Here you go, Underoos. You’ve got pretty much any streaming service on the planet.” He figured they could use the distraction. Peter smiled and turned it to Netflix, flipping through shows until he settled on The Great British Baking show. Tony raised and eyebrow as Peter settled back and selected an episode.

May leaned over to him. “It’s kind of a stress-relief show,” she murmured. “He watches it when he doesn’t really want to think about anything—usually after tests or an Academic Decathlon event.”

Tony nodded. “Oh, okay. I’d figure he’d prefer to watch something of the science-fiction variety.”

“Well, sure,” she replied, “but he’s pretty much seen all of Star Trek already, and he’s a little looped up right now. He probably just settled on the first thing he saw.”

“Come on!” Peter said, throwing his hands up and startling them. “You knew bread week was coming! This show has been on for a thousand years, and Paul Hollywood is a judge! How did you not prep yourself for Teacakes?” He hissed and quickly lowered the bandaged one, then used the other to rub his shoulder. “Ouch. See what you made me do?” he grumbled at the television.

Tony giggled at the scene before him. Peter looked over at him sullenly. “What?” he whined. “I’m not wrong.”

May grinned and took the empty armchair beside him next to Tony. “What season did you pick?”

Peter frowned. “I don’t know,” he said. “I picked one with that short girl and the goth guy. We haven’t seen those, yet.”

“Peter, I thought you were re-watching the ones with Mary, Mel and Sue before you started the newer seasons. You wanted to see how much the show changed because of the new production and hosts,” May tutted. “Besides, you can’t just start in the middle.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to watch something kind of new, and that short lady is hilarious,” Peter said. “And bread week is always the best episode!” He looked over at Tony and beckoned him closer. Tony leaned down as May grabbed the remote to play the first episode of the season. “Paul always looks so mean over bread. It’s great!” he whispered, conspiratorially.

Tony smiled and shook his head. “If you say so, Underoos.”

Peter grinned and leaned back against his pillow. “Oh hey, there are more contestants,” he said dumbly.

May smirked. “Yes. That’s what happens when you watch a baking competition from the beginning.”

Peter laughed and smiled sheepishly. “Oh. Duh. I knew that,” he said. He reached over and grabbed May’s hand. May held it in hers, letting her thumb make soothing circles over his wrist. “I think Ben would like that Noel guy.”

May pressed her lips together and nodded. “Yeah,” she said, sniffling. “I think so, too.”

Peter yawned and blinked his eyes, blearily. “I saw him,” he whispered, eyes starting to drift closed. May looked over, startled. Tony suddenly felt like he was intruding. This was private. He shouldn’t be watching this. He glanced back, wondering if there was any way he could leave unnoticed.

“What?” May asked, clearly surprised.

“Yeah, when the Vulture dropped that building on me,” Peter continued. Tony’s blood froze. “I was stuck.” Tony heard his stuttering heartbeat pounding in his ears. _Peter was trapped under a building?_ “But Benny came and talked with me and told me I could move it, so I did.”

May let out a sudden sob and gently pulled her nephew to him. Peter was startled out of his sleepy state as she wrapped him in a hug. “Oh bambino,” she said into his shoulder. Peter hugged her back.

“Don’t cry, May,” he said softly. “There’s no crying when the Great British Baking Show is on, come on.” May’s shoulders shook as she held onto Peter. _My fault,_ Tony thought. _If he had his suit—this is my fault. I have to fix it. I have to fix it so it never happens again._

Tony stood up. “I need to do a couple of things. If you need anything, just ask Friday. I activated the old security system so she’s available for anything you need.”

“Tony,” May said as she straightened up, “before you go, I need to have a word with you.” She dabbed at her eyes and stared at Tony head on. Tony took one look at the fiery look in her eyes and swallowed nervously. “Can we talk in the hallway?” she asked.

“Wait, you’re going?” Peter asked. He glanced between Tony and May. “Both of you?”

May blinked, startled, and smiled reassuringly at Peter. “Just Mr. Stark, honey. He’s got some work to do, but I’m sure he can come by to see you later.” She glanced at him and raised her eyebrow sharply.

“Yeah, kid,” he nodded. “I’ll be back sometime this evening. Your aunt just wants to talk for a minute. She’ll be back before you know it.”

Peter stared at May very seriously, his brown eyes wide and beseeching. “Promise?” he asked in a small voice.

May’s eyes looked suspiciously wet. She gave him a big smile and ruffled his hair. “Always.”

Peter sniffed and laid back. “Okay,” he murmured.

“Just keep watching your show, kiddo,” Tony said. “Before I go to work, you can give me a rundown of what that Paul guy said about the rolls.”

“It was teacakes, and we’re not on that episode anymore. But I can tell you about the cakes,” Peter corrected. He picked at the blanket again. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“Any time,” the billionaire responded before leading May out of the room. He gently shut the door and guided her to an adjacent room so they wouldn’t be interrupted. He folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall, waiting for her to begin. May dabbed at her eyes again, frowning intensely.

Tony shifted a little, uncomfortable with the silence. “So—”

“You have a lot of nerve,” May snarled, placing her hands on her hips. “Who the hell are you to come into my kid’s life and give him some sort of super suit? I’m guessing it was the ‘retreat to Germany,’ when this all started.” May Parker was a sharp individual, no doubt about it.

“Hey, he was operating before I got involved.”

“I’m not an idiot,” May said, scowling. “I remember when I first saw Spider-Man on the news. It was right after my husband died. Spider-Man had just stopped an armed robbery, and he wore sweatpants.” Tony shrugged a little. “That’s a different discussion I need to have with _him_ , and it is beside the point.”

“Okay,” Tony relented. “I get it. I shouldn’t have gotten involved—”

“You should have told me!” May shouted, stomping her foot. “Tony, I know Peter’s been doing this for a long time, and that he started way before you came near him. I knew there was something going on with him almost all year. You can’t just swan in, help my kid, and not tell me about something so serious! I’m his aunt! I’m his guardian! I am the one making decisions for his health and wellbeing, and that was something I needed to know!” Tony opened his mouth, but she cut him off before he could say a word. “Then I could have told you if doing something like, oh, I don’t know, _taking away the suit that actually protects him,_ is a bad idea!”

Tony sighed and rubbed his face. When May arrived at the tower, he told her everything he knew. The fact that she held back for this long was unbelievable. The plane crash—a very public event that all of New York knew about within minutes of it happening—was one thing. Now that they knew he had nearly been crushed by a building—a building that fell that no one knew about? The fact that the kid was even alive was incredible. Peter talking and watching the English Cooking Show or whatever it was, was miraculous. “I know. I’m sorry. I was trying to keep his trust, but in retrospect, that was really stupid of me,” he gave a small laugh. “I mean, I never had his trust to begin with.”

May raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”

“God, May, I know you don’t know me or anything, but I’m not one for apologies. You heard me say it, come on—”

“About the trust part, Tony,” May said flatly.

Tony sighed. “Anytime I talked to him about anything, he just—he talked to me weird. He kept trying to get me off the topic, or he’d only give—”

“—half an answer?” May asked, raising her eyebrow. Tony looked up at her in surprise and nodded slightly. May shook her head. “I knew it,” she murmured. “I knew he was bullshitting me. When you had Happy bring me here and you explained everything, I thought it was the Spider-Man thing. But you knew about that, so if Peter was acting that way with you, too—”

“It’s about Fisk,” Tony said quickly.

May blanched, then her eyes narrowed. Tony suddenly felt a chill in the air, seeing her face. “What did that man do to my kid?” she asked in a low voice.

Tony shrugged. “I don’t have all the details. Peter said that he started working for him, but then later on, Fisk threatened him to make Spider-Man work for him. Fisk has been doing all kinds of illegal stuff, operating as the Kingpin, apparently, and Spider-Man was one of his enforcers.” Tony swallowed slightly.

“He put his hands on my kid?” May looked like she could go toe-to-toe with the Hulk and win.

“Yeah,” Tony said. “He did. Peter said he beat him up. And I’m not going to let him get away with it.”

May stared into Tony’s eyes for a moment before nodding her head firmly. “You better not.”

“You have my word,” Tony said, solemnly.

“Good,” May said, opening the door and starting to exit the room. She paused by the door and glanced back at him. “Well, come on,” she said, waving him over. “You need to say goodbye to Peter before you do—well, I’m assuming a major ass-kicking, but you never did say.”

Tony followed her back to Peter’s room. “You’re not wrong,” he replied. “But I got the feeling you were mad at me, so I’m not sure why I’m allowed to interact with your nephew.” May stopped in front of Peter’s door and looked at him very seriously.

“Because the second he was in danger, you were there,” she said calmly. “Once the people important to him were in trouble, you acted.” Tony looked down, shifting a little. “And ultimately, when he was lucid—in the moment where he knew he couldn’t handle this—he turned to you. I trust my kid’s instincts. If he trusts you, then I have to respect that.” Tony blinked his eyes, startled by the sudden warmth he felt blooming in his chest.

May raised her hand and waved a warning finger at him. “You listen up, though. From here on out, you have to tell me things—at least the big things. I don’t care if he promises you not to. I’m—”

“His mom,” Tony finished for her. She gaped at him and he rolled his eyes. “Come on, May. He knows it, I know it, and you have to know it. I won’t cross that line again, I promise.” May closed her mouth and gave Tony a small smile.

“Good. Glad we’re on the same page,” she said, voice a little watery. She pushed open the door. Peter was frowning at the television.

“What’s wrong?” Tony asked.

“The technical was brutal,” Peter said, despondently. “They had to make these little cakes covered in chocolate with cream. It looked so stressful.”

May nodded and resumed her place in the armchair beside him. “Anyone you like, yet?”

Peter brightened instantly. “Oh yeah,” he said. “Yan is really cool, and so is Liam.”

“Well let’s see what happens next,” May said with a small smile. “After cakes is done, what’s the next episode?”

“Biscuits,” Peter said with a grin. “Oh, man, we should have cookies! Can we have cookies, Mr. Stark?”

Tony blinked, wondering why the hell Peter wanted cookies when he was watching a show about biscuits, until he realized that the bakers were making cookies. “Uh, sure kid. I’ll get some sent up to you. Just tell Friday what kind you like and they’re yours. I’ve got to get to work now, but I’ll be back later, okay?”

“Okay,” Peter replied. “Thanks for everything, Mr. Stark.”

Tony started to reach toward Peter as an impulse to ruffle the kid’s hair came over him, then he thought better of it and dropped his hand. “Yeah, kid. No problem.” He left, quietly shutting the door behind him. “Friday?” he called.

“Yeah boss?”

“I need you to pull up everything you have on Wilson Fisk, including any facial recognition you have from traffic and security cameras in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Tony hesitated, glancing back at the room behind him that held the Parkers. “And Friday?”

“Yes?”

“Make sure to order some cookies for that kid. Maybe give him a reminder that he wanted some.”

* * *

Aaron frowned as he left his brother’s empty apartment. There wasn’t anything planned right now. Jeff would never do some frivolous, spur of the moment trip while Miles was in school. Hell, he wouldn’t even do it when Miles was out of school. Jeff had never been spontaneous a day in his life. Something was off. He chewed his lower lip nervously. Fisk was onto him. He was sure of it. But there was no sign that he had been there. There was no indication that Fisk or his cronies came anywhere near his family, and there would be. Jeff would go out swinging.

He sighed as he walked away from the complex. Jeff hadn’t picked up his phone last night, but that wasn’t unusual for him. Miles didn’t answer though, and didn’t text back yet, and that _was_ unusual. Maybe Aaron was worrying for nothing—maybe the Kingpin didn’t realize the extent of Aaron’s involvement, but Aaron hadn’t survived in the organization as long as he had by putting all his bets on false optimism. No, he had to stay ahead of the game, here.

Morris didn’t want a hand in it, not anymore. Aaron and him went way back, having been recruited together. Morris never liked it. He always tried to go straight. He even joined the military to get away from Fisk, but it was all fruitless in the end. No, Morris had to go through some crazy means to get out of town. Aaron was relieved when Morris finally had a way out on that cargo ship until it sank, and Morris Bench was listed as one of the missing people who were presumed dead. Then all he felt was loss. It was just so typical that Morris managed to get a taste of freedom, only to die because of it.

Then Morris showed up. He showed up in town and was spotted by one of Fisk’s cronies. Aaron was overwhelmed with relief. The feeling was short-lived, however, when he remembered the danger Morris was in now. Aaron met him again to remind him he had to get out of town, but Morris said the accident changed him. He could do anything, now, and that included taking on the Kingpin. He showed Aaron that he could shift into water, shocking the man. Aaron shook himself out of it. It didn’t matter that Morris had powers now. Fisk had several mutants working for him. Hell, Hammerhead had been vying for that number two spot Wesley held for _years._ Morris had powers he didn’t even come close to understanding yet. Fisk would have him in a grave before Morris knew what hit him. Aaron had convince him to leave, even though he risked his own safety to do so. When he was almost caught by Ohnn—

Aaron swallowed. If Morris hadn’t acted so quickly, they both would have been done. The former Marine dived into the river, hiding himself in his new form very effectively. When Ohnn appeared out of nowhere (those new powers of his were ridiculous), and told him they had to catch Spider-Man, Aaron was so relieved he hadn’t been caught that he wasn’t even sure he knew what Ohnn said. Once he realized what was going on, he felt his nerves start to get the better of him. Spider-Man was strong. When he encountered him in that parking garage, he was nervous. If the kid (he was so obviously a kid) hadn’t used that stupid voice modulator, Aaron might have even been scared. He didn’t have his suit, and his skills could only get him so far with a guy who could pick up a bus.

But when Ohnn delivered Spider-Man in his downgraded suit right to the bridge Aaron had met Morris, shaking and wobbly, Aaron was able to shove his anxiety away. This was a Spider-Man who was not at full capacity. He would be easy to stop, easy to take out, and easy to hand deliver to the Kingpin, dead or alive. The fight itself was a joke. Aaron was deciding whether or not he should get his hands dirty or let Fisk finish the job when the kid’s mask came off.

Aaron was stunned. He was appalled. He knew Peter was a mutant. He knew he was strong, and he knew Fisk was using the kid for his own gains. He never thought that Peter could be Spider-Man, though. He had heard that Spider-Man was working for the Kingpin, had even seen it with his own eyes once, but he never put two and two together. Aaron could barely hold back his disgust.

Wilson Fisk wanted to kill a child.

He wanted to kill a kid who was barely older than Aaron’s own nephew. He wanted to kill a kid who hadn’t even been able to apply to college. He wanted to kill a kid who probably hadn’t even kissed a girl. And why? Aaron didn’t even know, except that said kid didn’t jump when Fisk told him to.

The saddest part was that Aaron wasn’t even surprised. Aaron was seventeen when he got recruited. Fisk didn’t care how old you were. He cared how capable you were. He cared if you were useful. In fact, the younger you were, the better. It was always easier to manipulate kids.

Aaron couldn’t kill Peter. He couldn’t. Morris was still there, still lurking in the water below. He hoped the man understood him when he dropped the kid over the side of the bridge. He went back to Fisk to tell him it was done, and that Spider-Man drowned in the Hudson, praying he was telling a lie and that Morris understood the kid needed to be taken somewhere safe. He hadn’t had contact with Morris since, but it hadn’t even been a day. He had to wait a while before the heat would be off of him.

Aaron got back to his apartment and surveyed his surroundings carefully. He hesitated when he saw one of Fisk’s SUVs parked in front of his building. _The man could try to be less obvious,_ he thought, scoffing. Aaron kept walking forward, casually, turning up his collar against the chill in the air and putting his head down. At a glance, he saw the vehicle was empty. He walked past his building towards a mart on the end of the street, thinking of what to do.

He knew it. He knew Fisk had to have some idea what Aaron did. His attention was split between the car behind him and the mart in front of him, so as he passed an alley and a hand shot out to grab him, he was taken by surprise.

“Wha—”

“Shut up!” Aaron relaxed a fraction at the sound of that voice. Morris pulled him further down the alley to a dumpster right beside the low brick wall at the end. “Those guys have been all over your apartment,” he hissed. “You have to get out of here.”

“What happened to the kid?” Aaron asked.

“Shit, Aaron! Why are you wasting time? Look—”

“He’s my responsibility, Morris,” Aaron said, frowning. “He’s one of my nephew’s best friends. I’ve invited him into my home. Is he okay?”

“I brought him to Daredevil—”

“You _what?_ ”

“Aaron! There’s no time! Look, that kid is safe with him. You will be, too. He knows how much you’re under Fisk’s thumb. He’s got a friend who will help you out,” Morris said, pushing him to the dumpster. “I’m gonna tell you how to get to the guy. He’s a law—”

“He won’t help me,” Aaron interrupted. “We’ve fought each other, for God’s sake. I stopped him from taking out Madame Gao’s warehouse.”

“Daredevil doesn’t care about Fisk’s goons, Aaron. He cares about getting Fisk!”

“I have to get my family out of here,” Aaron said, stubbornly.

“Yeah? Then why are you at home instead of with them?” Morris asked, sharply. Aaron felt his body chill at the thought of the empty apartment he just left. Something must have shown on his face, because Morris softened slightly. “Shit—shit, Aaron. They’re… they’re gonna be okay, alright? We’ll get them.”

“What if I’m too late?” Aaron asked through gritted teeth, clenching his hands at his sides. “What if—”

“You can’t help them if you’re dead,” Morris said, not allowing Aaron to argue. “Look, after you get out of the other side of this alley, you take a bus to Hell’s Kitchen. You go to this address,” Morris pressed a piece of paper in Aaron’s hand. “Nelson and Murdock, you get me? You go there and tell the blind guy you need his help, and you need to speak to him alone. And when you are alone, you tell him who you are, what you did, and that you were the one who asked me to help you with the kid. Then, you tell him everything you know about the Kingpin. You tell him how he recruited you, and everything you know about where he’s been.”

“What?” Aaron exclaimed. They were a couple of attorneys that worked for the Kingpin. “Why?”

“I know, I know it’s crazy, but I trust him. He’s Daredevil’s friend, alright? I told him what I know this morning. He’s been building up a case against Fisk for months—pretty much since he was hired to defend Healy. He almost has enough evidence to get Fisk arrested, but he has to move quickly. The more information he has, the better. You give that to him, and he’ll find safety for you and your family.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, but he managed to get that kid and his family safe by contacting Iron Man. Since he’s got those kinds of connections, I think he can help you, too.”

“Iron Man? He knows _Iron Man?_ ”

“Not sure,” Morris shrugged. “I just know that the guy came swooping in to pick up that kid. I asked Daredevil about it, and he referred me to Murdock. That’s when I found out about his case, and his connections.” Morris looked over his shoulder nervously. “You get out of here, go where I said, and tell Murdock the truth. Trust me, I don’t know how, but he knows when you’re lying. You tell him everything, and he’ll help you. He won’t care about your record. He just wants to take the Kingpin down.”

Aaron sighed and looked back, weighing his options.

Who was he kidding? The Kingpin made sure he didn’t have any other options left. Aaron was a lot of things, and he did a lot of things, but at the end of it all, he protected his family first. If Fisk was his enemy now, then he’d do anything he could to stop him. His little brother counted on him for that, whether he knew it or not.

“Okay, Morris,” he said, climbing up the dumpster to jump over the short wall. “It’s worth a shot.”

“Trust me,” Morris said, seriously.

Aaron jumped up and quickly hauled himself to the top of the wall. He looked back at Morris, taking in his friend’s face. He looked frightened, but also determined, which was exactly how Aaron felt.

“I do,” he said, smiling as he dropped down to the other side. He wasn’t sure what would happen when he met this Murdock guy, but if Morris trusted him, Aaron would, too. After all, he managed to get Spider-Man to safety and away from Fisk, and that was no easy feat. Aaron could just hope that he’d be willing to help him as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Writing Notes:
> 
> 1\. Spies in Disguise was ADORABLE!!! All the pigeon facts, omg. I need a Walter in my life. 
> 
> 2\. I have been mad stressed, y’all. I’ve been watching British Bake Off like no other. In the US it’s called The Great British Baking Show (some kind of copyright issue, idk), and for anyone who _hasn’t_ seen it, I’m sorry, you’ve been living under a rock, and you need to get with the program. It is the _nicest_ reality/competition show that I’ve ever seen. And there are cakes. AND BREAD WEEK! I got my husband watching it and we both laugh and guess if it’s going to be underproved or overbaked. And OF COURSE IT’S GOING TO TURN TO DOUGH IF YOU SHOVE YOUR THUMB IN IT OMG!!! I love it. It is amazing and wonderful. Unfortunately, I’ve been watching it so much that it wormed it’s way into this chapter. Sorry, not sorry. Okay, thanks. Moving on. 
> 
> 3\. The few times in my life that I’ve been on painkillers, I have to say that I just got extra dumb. It’s like, really easy to state the obvious and not know you’re doing it. Or sometimes you say something and thought the rest so other people have no idea what you’re saying. Then when they tell you what you did you realize that _did_ happen, and man was it funny. That’s just been my experience. Everyone has a different time. Peter’s perspective is mine in this case. Write what you know. ;-)
> 
> 4\. So everyone else in the world is gonna be like, “You dumb American.” Seriously, when I was a kid, it took me forever to figure out what a ‘biscuit’ was, and I’m still not sure ‘cookie’ is the correct equivalent. To me, biscuits are these delicious, airy flat fluffy rolls that you put butter on or smother with gravy. Mmmmm biscuits and gravy. So good. And cookies are pretty much any type of sweet, small baked good, like brownies, chocolate chip cookies, shortbread cookies, pinwheels, gingerbread, gingersnaps etc. etc. And every time Paul is like “will is snap? Is it chewy? Why is it gooey inside?” I’m like, “it’s a cookie. Let the cookie be a cookie. Why are you mad it bends??? That’s the best kind of cookie it’s soft omg.” XD
> 
> 5\. What, Aaron POV? What are you doing here? ;-) I wanted to take a second to kind of shed some light on some subplot I had going on in my head for several chapters. A little bit after I introduced Hydro-Man, I wanted to incorporate him. Then this weird little side story of him and Aaron knowing each other for years and being recruited together kind of developed in my brain—well I just fell in love with it. They have each other’s backs. The water pump that was made by Peter and Aaron broke on that cargo ship Morris was escaping on, giving him his powers. I had no way to really include those details (that I’ve been thinking about for FOREVER), as it was all told from Peter’s POV. But Aaron and Morris are a loose end that need wrapping up (and they will be very soon), and the best way to do it was to give Aaron a bit of a voice in this story. It made me so happy to be able to do that. 
> 
> I hope you are are safe and healthy. I know this is a rough time, y'all. I feel it. Please be responsible humans and think of the safety of other humans if you're not worried about yourself, and please be extra vigilant in regards to your own safety if you are worried about yourself. There is an end in sight. This is not the new normal. Let's keep calm and carry on. Love you guys!
> 
> If you want to ask about my fics, give me prompts, or just say hi, swing on over to [@hanuko](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. 
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts! I'd love to see your comments, and please leave a kudos if you enjoyed. :-)


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“May?” he asked. May hummed in response. “Um—so you’re, you’re okay with this?”_
> 
> “What do you mean, Peter?”
> 
> Peter cleared his throat. “You’re—you’re just being really chill. I thought that you’d be mad when you found out.”
> 
> May sighed and adjusted her glasses. “Oh sweetie,” she said, shaking her head a little, “I am absolutely livid _right now.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for how long it took to update.
> 
> I hate endings. We're almost at the end. Like, the finish line is in sight. We're right there. 
> 
> I am so bad at endings. 
> 
> So I've been STRUGGLING with this one. It's basically the precursor for the last 1-3 chapters. Seriously, there's one or two actual chapters left (probably one) and an epilogue. 
> 
> That's it. 
> 
> I really hope you all like this one. Blood, sweat and tears. 
> 
> Please comment. For the love. Please comment and let me know your thoughts. Comments are love and motivation. ;-)

“How long do I have to wear this cast?” Peter asked, wishing his wrist and hand weren’t so itchy. He found out he had been bedridden for the last two days, and he was itching to do something. He was even willing to finish his homework at this point, but his dominant hand was trapped.

“You have to wear it as long as Dr. Cho says,” his aunt replied mildly, turning a page in her book. Peter huffed and leaned back, frustrated by the response. He was certain the break was healed by now. Bones only took a couple of days. The worst of it now was the bruising, as well as the sting he felt in his arms, shoulders and legs. Dr. Cho said something about crush injuries and lactic acid, but Peter was a little too loopy to pay attention at the time. They were slowly weaning him off his dose of super-soldier painkillers. On the bright side, it meant Peter was less sleepy. He had been prone to dozing off in the middle of conversations with his friends. On the downside, when he wasn’t asleep, he was bored.

“Well can she come in and do an x-ray then?” Peter whined. “May, it’s better, I swear.” May pursed her lips and didn’t respond. Peter sighed and gave up, picking at his blanket again. He glanced over at May and watched her for a moment, curious at her relaxed attitude. May was easy-going about a lot of things, but this didn’t seem like something she would just brush off.

“May?” he asked. May hummed in response. “Um—so you’re, you’re okay with this?”

May dog-eared the page she was on and closed her book, setting it to the side so she could give him her full attention. “What do you mean, Peter?”

Peter cleared his throat. “You’re—you’re just being really chill. I thought that you’d be mad when you found out.”

May sighed and adjusted her glasses. “Oh sweetie,” she said, shaking her head a little, “I am absolutely _livid_ right now.”

Peter swallowed. “What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been angrier about anything in my life,” she said, lips twitching. Peter was pretty sure she was trying to keep from scowling. “But what good would it do to shout at you while you’re in a hospital bed?” She picked some lint from her sweater and took a deep breath, probably to keep herself calm. “When you’re back on your feet, we will discuss this, and believe me, there will be discipline for what you did. Sneaking out, going behind my back, getting in fights—yeah kiddo, you’re definitely going to be grounded after everything settles, and that will be the least of your worries.” Peter bit his lip and nodded. “Then we’ll figure out the rules for the Spider-Man thing.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Wait—wait what?” May raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to let me keep being Spider-Man?”

May stared at him for a minute before laughing suddenly. “God, Peter. Can I stop you?”

“Well—”

“You are the best kid I know. I know you think that if you can do something, you should do it. I knew it back when you and Ned became friends because that bully tried to steal his Legos. Remember? You must have eight or something.” Peter rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “ _L’mann ha’shem_ , I knew it when you were ten and tried to take on that robot at the Stark Expo! You are too good for this world, Peter Parker, and if you feel like you need to be the one to save it, who am I to stop you?”

Peter picked at his blanket. “You’re—you’re _May_ ,” he said, lip quivering. “I—I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to upset you. I didn’t want you to say no because if you did—well, I mean if you did—”

May left her armchair and climbed on Peter’s bed, wrapping her arm around him and pulling him close. When it came right down to it, if May told him he would have to stop, he would. He respected his aunt too much to ignore any important rules she put down, and he never wanted to scare her or worry her. Peter’s vision blurred as his eyes filled with tears. He snuffled a little and buried his head into her hair. “I’m sorry I lied to you,” he mumbled.

“I know, honey,” she said, rubbing his back. “I know you are. I just wish you would have told me when everything started. I could have tried to help you.”

“It got too big,” he continued earnestly, wanting her to understand. “It got too big, May, and I didn’t know what to do!”

“You can always come to me,” she replied. “Always, Peter, no matter what is going on, you can always come to me and tell me anything, no matter how big it is. I’m here to help you carry it. You’re my boy, and that’s my job.”

“Love you, May.”

May petted his head. “I love you too, honey.”

There was a knock on the door frame that startled him. He wiped his eyes and looked up, but he ducked his head down in embarrassment at what he saw.

Tony stood in the doorway with a man that was about the same height. He had brown hair, wore a dark, slightly worn suit, and he had dark red sunglasses over his face. Peter couldn’t believe he was just caught crying, not only by Tony but also a total stranger. Peter sniffled, trying to get his emotions under control.

“Now isn’t the best time, Tony,” May warned. Peter felt warmth bloom inside his chest at her words, a familiar feeling of safety settling over him.

“Sorry, May, this really can’t wait—”

“My apologies, ma’am.” Peter raised his head stared at the newcomer thoughtfully. He had a low, gravelly voice and Peter thought he recognized it. The man looked at him and May and gave a soft smile. Peter raised an eyebrow at his dark sunglasses, wondering how well he could see, until he noticed a red and white cane in his hands.

_Wait a minute._

“I—” Peter swallowed, “I met you.” Tony raised his eyebrows in alarm, and the man tilted his head to the side, frowning. Peter cleared his throat. “You’re a lawyer, right? From Hell’s Kitchen? I met you last spring.”

The man smiled again. “I don’t meet many men as young as you, although with what Mr. Stark has told me, I think we may have crossed paths. You work as an intern, right? For Confederated Global Investments?”

Peter nodded, then cleared his throat, blushing in embarrassment. “Yes, sir.”

“You know, Foggy still hasn’t gotten over being called, _‘Mr. Nelson, sir,_ ’” the man said, chuckling. “He can’t believe he’s not _‘hip,’_ anymore.” Peter winced a little. “His word, not mine, although I’m not exactly, uh, _down_ with the slang these days, either.” Peter smiled and May relaxed her hold on him, sliding over, but not leaving the bed. Tony walked forward and the man followed, barely tapping his cane in front of him. Tony guided him to the armchair beside the bed, and the man felt for it with his hand. “Is it alright if I sit here for a moment?”

“Yes,” May said, gripping Peter’s shoulder. Peter smiled at her. “I still don’t think it’s a good time, though. My kid’s in a hospital bed, right now, in case you weren’t informed.” Peter watched May shoot a glare at Tony, and the billionaire merely shrugged in response.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I was informed of the circumstances. I hate to have to press for information now, but I really need to speak with your son about the events that put him in this bed.” The man gently lowered himself into the empty seat. “I’m hoping he can help me with a case.”

“A case?” Peter asked, quietly. “What kind of case, Mister, uh,” he paused, unsure of the name.

“Murdock. Matt Murdock,” the man replied with a small smile. “I’ve been gathering evidence for a long time. Since you came to see me, actually. I never did catch your name.”

“Peter, sir. Peter Parker,” Peter replied, leaning behind May a little. She held him tighter.

“Peter,” Matt said softly. He spoke to Peter in a way that felt familiar, as if they knew each other. “It’s nice to meet you. Now, as I said, I’ve been building a case for some time now, against Wilson Fisk.” Peter inhaled sharply, his spine stiffening. “You see, I’ve received information that Wilson Fisk is operating as the Kingpin.” Matt paused and looked thoughtful for a moment. “I was hoping to hear your story. If you worked closely enough with him, it may help me bring him down.”

Peter stared at him, blankly. “My… my story?”

“Yes, Peter. I understand that you are a witness to his actions as the Kingpin, weren’t you?”

Peter trembled and shook his head, eyes wide. His vision started to tunnel and he leaned further into May, hearing a rapid beeping from behind him. May rubbed her thumb against his shoulder.

“No way,” May said, sternly. “You can’t spring something like this on us in here. No.”

“Mrs. Parker,” Matt tried to interject, but May wasn’t having it.

“Look at him!” she shouted. “He’s terrified. There is no way you’re gonna question him about this now. Not until he gets a chance to calm down so we can talk about it.”

“Mrs. Parker, I don’t think you understand how time sensitive this is.”

“Hey ambulance-chaser,” Mr. Stark interjected. “You said you just wanted to meet the kid, not question him like this.”

“Peter, please,” Matt said softly.

Peter shook his head. “You don’t understand,” he said hoarsely. “He—he has everyone. He has spies everywhere. No jury would convict him,” he clutched at May and she rubbed his shoulders, trying to soothe him. “He wouldn’t even make it to a cell! He has people everywhere, Mr. Murdock.”

“I know,” Matt responded. “But I’m building something for the press. My friend Ben Ulrich writes for the Daily Bugle. Jameson may be a hardhead and a bully, but he knows a good story when he sees one, and he has the guts to publish it.”

Peter shook his head as Tony stroked his beard in thought. “You know,” he said, “that’s not a bad idea.”

“It’s a terrible idea,” Peter said, starting to feel frustrated. “I wear a ma—“ he cut himself off, staring at Matt. Matt tilted his head slightly and raised an eyebrow. “I—do things the way I do them for a reason, Mr. Stark, and any information I can give compromises me in a bad way.”

“Kid, this guy is above board. Others have talked to him, too, including the Crawler.”

“Prowler,” Matt interjected. Peter’s eyebrows shot up.

“Aaron talked to you?” he asked, shocked. May’s own eyes widened in surprise.

“The man you worked on those projects with?” she asked, connecting the dots. Aaron was one of the few things from his internship he could tell May about. “The one who took you out to throw up graffiti in Brooklyn?”

“Mr. Davis explained his position with Mr. Fisk,” Matt said smoothly. “He had many of the same concerns as you. For your information, I can offer legal protection.” The lawyer leaned forward slightly. He folded his hands over the top of his cane. “Peter, I can’t stress to you how important it is that we take Fisk down. I don’t know if you understand the extent of what he’s done.”

Peter fumed. How dare this, this _solicitor_ who barely even knew Peter presume so much. “Last I checked, I was the one who was there, Mr. Murdock.”

“Okay,” Tony said, holding up his hands. “Okay, so we’re off to a rocky start. But kid, if you give him the information he needs and he takes it to the press—”

“It doesn't matter!” Peter shouted. “It doesn't matter how ballsy your press guy is. It doesn't matter what evidence—circumstantial or otherwise—you have. _You. Can't. Touch. Wilson. Fisk!_ ” Peter was caught between rage and panic, completely dismayed that only May would listen to him. Tony and Matt hadn't worked directly with Fisk. They didn’t even operate outside of the law. They had no idea what they were dealing with. All they had was Peter's word against Fisk's, and a fifteen-year-old could not go up against that reputation.

“Peter,” May said softly, “it's going to be okay. Tony—”

“Tony can't do shit, May!” Peter pressed, glancing at the billionaire and frustrated that he seemed to lose his aunt, too. Tony was staring at Peter in disbelief. “I'm sorry, Mr. Stark, but it's true. Fisk is untouchable. He's a savior of the community. He's on the same side as all the people who need the most help in this city. The public has a high opinion of him, and that's the only one that matters. And he has enhanced people working for him! People who can appear out of nowhere! The second you or Mr. Murdock give out any of this information, if the city doesn’t come for you, you can bet that Fisk's lackeys _will._ ”

Peter started trembling. “And he won’t stop. He won’t stop by going after you. He’ll go after May for anything I tell you about him. He’ll go after Mr. Murdock for getting involved. And when he comes for you, Mr. Stark, he won’t stop with you. He won’t even start with you. He’ll go after all your friends and loved ones first. No one will be safe.”

“Kid, I think you’ve forgotten that I’m Iron Man,” Tony said, scoffing a little. “And most my friends are also superheroes. We’re sitting pretty.”

“Yeah?” Peter asked, coldly. “Didn’t know you chilled with people who could transport themselves miles in the span of a second.” He tapped his chin in a mocking way. “Oh yeah, that’s right. You don’t. Fisk does though.”

“Peter, we can—”

“A guy took me—and I have precognitive abilities and super-strength— _out_ of my apartment to a bridge somewhere clear across the city. I know Queens like the back of my hand, Mr. Stark. I was not in Queens anymore,” Peter declared, flatly. “Maybe Aaron has talked to you. Maybe he’s convinced his family to get as far away from here as possible. Maybe he’s gone nuts. But I worked with Fisk on an entirely different level from Aaron, and I have seen what he does to people who go up against him.” Peter repressed a shudder. His eyes were stinging again. “No way. I’m not saying anything to a lawyer. No.”

“Peter,” May said, rubbing his shoulder again, “you don’t have to tell us anything.”

“But—“ Tony began to interject, but May held up her hand in warning.

“You can wait as long as you need to tell us, but what kind of life will you be living?”

Peter sniffled and pressed his face against her neck again. May pet his hair as he cried quietly in her embrace. “The kind where you’re still here, May.”

“ _Bambino_ ,” May murmured, stroking his back. “I think I get it. But Aaron has been doing this a lot longer than you, and he has a family too. Don’t you think that maybe he came clean because he got tired of it? Maybe because he realized that in the end, nothing could protect his family better than trying to stop Fisk?”

“Maybe,” Peter relented, pulling away and dabbing at his eyes. “But I can’t—there’s too much I can’t talk about—”

“Peter,” Matt interjected, “you need to know something.” He drew in a careful breath and released it, pulling off his glasses and revealing his unfocused eyes. “I’m—I know you. You know me.”

Peter frowned, furrowing his brow. “I know we met, Mr. Murdock—”

“Mike.”

Peter paused, waiting for Matt to continue. “I’m sorry, Mr. Murdock—”

“I’m Mike.” Peter stared at the man, confused. He said Matt earlier, hadn’t he?

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought—do you not like me using your last name?”

“I thought you said your name was Matt,” May said, equally confused.

Matt looked heavenward, sighing in frustration. “No. I’m _Mike,_ Spidey.”

Oh.

_Oh._

“You’re Daredevil?” Peter spluttered. “But you’re blind!”

“Thanks for pointing it out,” Mike chuckled.

“You’re who now?” Tony asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He stepped a little nearer to the bed.

“Why did you come in here and give a fake name?” Peter asked, dumbfounded. Better yet, why hadn’t Tony checked it out?

“Matt’s his name. He’s got a legit law firm in Hell’s Kitchen,” Tony said. A muscle near his jaw was twitching slightly.

“Mike is the fake name, Peter,” Matt said. “I gave it to you because you seemed uncomfortable around me when we trained. I thought it would ease you a little bit to have a name to call me by.”

“It didn’t,” Peter replied. Matt nodded.

“I’m aware. I’m pretty good a reading people’s reactions.”

“Well read this one,” Tony said, stepping between the bed and the chair. All Peter could see was Tony’s broad back, shielding him from the other vigilante. “I thought you came to me because you had information about Fisk—because you needed help bringing him down—”

“I do,” Matt said, smoothly. “I have information, both as myself and Daredevil. I need more. I can’t reveal who I am without being arrested, and Peter can’t reveal anything about himself without being sent to the Raft.”

Peter’s eyes widened. He looked around Tony to stare at Matt. “What’s the Raft?” he asked in a low voice, remembering the rumors of the prison Ross had somewhere out in the ocean.

“Nothing you have to worry about,” Tony said quickly. “No one is going to jail or the Raft or anything, alright?”

“My point,” Matt continued, “is that I have several reasons to keep your identity a secret. I need information so I know what I’m up against. I know how to omit the things that would incriminate us. The law degree isn’t just for show, you know.”

“Even if the guy who runs the Bugle is brave enough to publish this, he won’t go up against someone like Wilson Fisk without something concrete,” Peter said, stubbornly. “If I tell you everything, and you tell this James guy—”

“Jameson,” Matt corrected.

“Yeah, sorry. If you tell Mr. Jameson what you know, he’d probably laugh you out of his office,” Peter continued. “Fisk is _that_ big. Come one, Mr. Murdock. He’s all over the news. The Bugle would be crazy to publish anything against him.”

“What about your suit?” Matt asked. Peter’s jaw dropped. “I’ve heard how it works. There’s some kind of power source and computer operating system, and knowing what I do about the guy who built it, I’m almost certain there must be recordings from it.”

“I don’t think I like how judgy your tone just got,” Tony said, sitting on the edge of Peter’s bed, still shielding him, but allowing Peter to carry on a conversation without having to crane his head around Tony. “I’m gonna stop you though. That suit only has evidence that will incriminate Spider-Man. He never mention’s Fisk’s name once.” He glanced over a Peter. “Did you know I was recording you?”

Peter shrugged. “Not at first,” he said. “I told Mr. Fisk about your suit, and he said you probably recorded at least some things. I didn’t really question it. I mean, he records things too. He records all the conversations his employees have, things in his building, things in his office—”

“Wait, _he_ has recordings?” Tony asked quickly.

“Well sure,” Peter said, frowning. “In case he ever needs to blackmail someone, he’s got all kinds of stuff. I’m pretty sure he keeps the backups in his office.” He raised his eyebrows, seeing where Tony might be going with this conversation. “You can’t get them, Mr. Stark. Only Mr. Fisk and Mr. Wesley have access to that room. The security system is one of the best.”

“Do you trust me, kid?” Peter looked at May who was staring at Tony very seriously. She looked over at Peter.

“You know him better than me, sweetie, but there aren’t too many people who would keep Spider-Man a secret,” she offered, smiling a little. “I think it’s just the people in this room, and your friends outside.”

Peter gaped. “How did you know they knew?”

May rolled her eyes. “Shouldn’t you be asking how I knew?”

“Well—Mr. Stark told you—”

“Nope,” Tony said, shaking his head. “Happy got her, said you were in trouble, and she said she knew because she saw the news.”

“What?”

“You’re not nearly as good at keeping secrets as you think, young man,” May said, eyes twinkling. “Not from me, anyway.” Peter stared at her in total shock. “Okay,” she relented. “To be fair, I didn’t know for sure. I just wondered. It seemed odd that Spider-Man and you both started working in Hell’s Kitchen at the same time. Happy and Tony confirmed it for me.”

“Oh.” Peter deflated a little. He kept that huge secret from May for nothing. He felt like such an idiot.

“Another thing we need to talk about,” May said softly. “Right now, we need to figure out how to stop Fisk. Do you trust Tony?”

Peter looked up at Tony. The man was idly examining his nails, but would cast a nervous expression over the teen occasionally, breaking his façade of indifference.

“Yeah,” Peter relented. “I guess—yeah I do.”

The corner’s of Tony’s mouth turned up slowly into a warm smile. “Well, Underoos, I’m glad to hear it, because I’m about to say something you’re not going to like.” Peter swallowed at the sight of Tony’s smirk, watching his eyes flash dangerously. “First off, I’ve never met any security system that I couldn’t beat. I could have been an excellent thief in another life,” his smile turned into a shark-like grin. “Second, you’re grounded for this.”

“Mr. Stark, it’s dangerous!” Peter interjected, hotly.

“Which is exactly why you are staying right where you are. You want to be an Avenger?”

“No,” Peter said, untruthfully. He’d love to be an Avenger one day.

“Really,” Tony replied, raising an eyebrow.

Peter looked away. “Not now, anyway. Maybe—I mean why would you even consider—”

“I wouldn’t,” Tony said. “Not yet, anyway. But one day, you may want to be on this team, and we’ll want you with us. But that means you need to trust your teammates to help you. With that fight—the one with Steve,” Tony swallowed a little nervously, his neck starting to redden. He looked embarrassed. “That happened because we stopped trusting each other. It happened because I thought I knew better than him, and I didn’t listen to what he was trying to tell me. I mean, he wasn’t listening to me either—sorry. I’m getting off track.” Tony squared his shoulders and looked Peter straight in the face, clasping a warm hand on his shoulder.

“The point I’m trying to make is that there are some things you need to let others do for you. You have a lot of responsibility, but that doesn’t mean you can’t let your friends help you share the burden.”

Peter’s lip trembled. “Friends?”

Tony smiled warmly at him. “Yeah,” he replied, clearing his throat. “What can I say, kid? I like you. So can you let me help you out?”

Peter looked down to hide his face from the adults in the room. He wanted to protest. He wanted to say no. It was his problem, he needed to fix it. He couldn’t throw this on anyone else, or expect somebody to just clean up his messes.

“You mean it?” he asked, voice tight. He could see Tony trying to duck down to catch his eye from his peripheral vision and raised his head. “You really think we’re friends? Are you serious?”

“Serious as a heart attack,” Tony said, and for once, there wasn’t a joke in his voice. He wasn’t smirking or laughing. His face showed concern and determination.

Peter was so damn _tired._

“Okay, Mr. Stark,” he said, clearing his throat. “I—okay. Can you—can you help me?”

“Believe me, kid. You don’t even have to ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Writing Notes:
> 
> 1\. Did you know, I put in a piece of foreshadowing that I planned to use, and completely forgot about? Clear back in like... chapter 4? That will come into play in the next chapter. Then later, in chapter 7 I had other foreshadowing that again, I forgot about. I'm sitting here going "how do I get them where they need to be??? IT'S GOING TO COME OUT OF NO WHERE!" then I reread, and went, "i'm an idiot." That's what happens when a fic goes from 10 chapters to 30. 
> 
> 2\. May isn't stupid. May is very intelligent. In the Ultimate Spider-Man comics, she has weird, sneaking suspicions about Peter's behavior. Whenever I see her kind of smirking at Peter, I wonder what she's thinking. Even old Aunt May is like, "what's going on, here?" So yes, May has wondered off and on for a while in this fic. Mostly a "could Peter... no. no that's silly." Also, she is a good Mom, and as a nurse, she knows not to scream at someone in a hospital bed. I'm not going to have the whole discipline/grounding discussion she and Peter will have in this story. I'll leave that up to your imaginations. Just know it will happen. 
> 
> 3\. Oh Matt. Would he reveal himself so casually to Iron Man and Peter in canon? No. No he wouldn't. Yay fanfics. ;-)
> 
> 4\. I think after all is said and done, I'm going to write a one-shot featuring Matt and Peter. They've got this brother vibe that I really enjoy. 
> 
> 5\. Tony is not going to call himself dad. He and Peter are not there yet. They're just getting comfortable enough to not lie about their shit to each other. Tony feels paternal. Peter feels like his kid a bit. They aren't going to say it. Their relationship needs to build up from here. But Tony telling Peter they're friends is a pretty big deal for his character, all things considered. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. This was painful for about a month, then all of a sudden, two days ago, wham, bam, thank you ma'am I was _inspired!_ It's such a relief to have this one done. 
> 
> Please, please leave a comment to tell me your thoughts, and leave a kudos if you were entertained!
> 
> Come visit me on [Tumblr!](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/)


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Tony spun around at the sound of the doorknob twisting, still clutching the external hard drive. A bespectacled man came in and paused at the entryway, perplexed at Tony's presence, his hand still on the door._
> 
> _Tony lifted his arm, and the whine of his repulsor charging filled the quiet space. “Shut the door.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well.
> 
> Here it is.
> 
> The last chapter.
> 
> There's only an epilogue, after this. 
> 
> It's been a long, long road, and I have to say, I never expected this story to get the kind of attention it did. Now that we're at the end, it's kind of bittersweet for me. I'm glad to be wrapping up this project, so I can focus my attention on some other ones (anyone interested in a delightfully hilarious story where Peter becomes a villain?). However, I'm sad that it's over. This was the biggest thing I've ever tried to tackle, and I was so overjoyed to have a platform to share it with all of you. Your kindness has meant the world to me, and I'm glad that so many of you stuck with it to the end. 
> 
> As per usual, please leave a kudos if you were entertained, and please, please leave a comment to let me know your thoughts. :-)
> 
> Without further ado, here is the next chapter. 
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNING** Please, please pay attention to the updated tags. For more details, go to my end notes for a synopsis. If anything in the tags are triggering, and the synopsis in the end notes are bothersome, you can skip the section. It is after the first line break, and ends just before the second Line break. I have bolded the text where is starts and stops. Please stay safe.

_This is almost too easy,_ Tony thought as he opened the window in front of him. No one seemed to notice Iron Man trying to break into Fisk Tower. Friday had done a scan of the building, showing several cameras throughout the structure (and disabling the ones that could capture Tony’s progress, including the one above the door inside Fisk’s office), but it seemed eyewitness accounts would be short on the ground. Friday would monitor the trends and news feeds, just in case.

After Tony slid inside, he moved to the computer, quickly gaining access. When Peter had told him that Fisk recorded everything, Tony couldn’t believe it. What kind of an idiot would keep footage of himself committing crimes? Peter scoffed when Tony asked.

_“He didn’t think anyone would want to come after him, Mr. Stark. He knows he’s untouchable.”_

_“Not to me, kid.”_

After a several minutes of digging through the files, he made no progress. So far, Fisk looked as clean as a whistle.

_Shit._

Tony sighed and looked around, picking up items on the desk and putting them down, hoping he would find something useful. He growled in frustration when nothing turned up, slamming his hand against the desk. A hollow thump echoed back at him. Tony raised his eyebrow, leaving his suit and carefully feeling under the desk, grinning when his fingers slid over a couple of grooves. After some careful manipulation, Tony heard a quiet click, and a somewhat heavy, flat piece from the underside of the desk fell into his palms. He pulled it out, grinning at what he saw in the compartment he just discovered.

An external hard drive.

Tony quickly jumped back into his suit and connected the device to it. Friday scanned the contents, finding an obscene number of encrypted files. After a few minutes, he managed to open several of them, which included faulty records for Fisk’s expenses, and video footage of him interrogating some poor woman with brown hair and green eyes. Tony winced as he watched Fisk punch her in the face, before turning around and waving for some man who held some sort of metal tool in his hand to take over. Tony quickly stopped the video. If this was what he thought it was, he would need to mentally prepare himself before watching the recording.

Tony spun around at the sound of the doorknob twisting, still clutching the external hard drive. A bespectacled man came in and paused at the entryway, perplexed at Tony's presence, his hand still on the door.

Tony lifted his arm, and the whine of his repulsor charging filled the quiet space. “Shut the door.”

The man did not need to be told twice. He slowly pushed the door shut behind him, raising his hands in surrender. His face remained impassive.

“Mr. Stark?”

“I think Iron Man is more suitable for this situation, don't you?” Tony replied scathingly. They both knew he held all the cards. The man by the door let out a soft chuckle.

“What's so funny?” Tony asked.

The man shrugged a little, moving a hand to adjust his glasses. Tony carefully tracked the movement, maintaining his position.

“He's really quite extraordinary,” the man replied nonchalantly. He gazed at Tony's mask and seemed to pick up his surprise. “Mr. Parker,” the man elaborated. “I'm assuming that your presence means he survived.”

“You don't get to talk about him.” Tony growled.

“Truly ingenious,” he went on. “He’s brilliant. I have a good eye for talent, Mr. Stark, and I have recruited many young men and women over the years, but Mr. Parker was the cream of the crop. How is he?” His voice was pleasant, and his overall tone made it seem like they were talking about a favored student as opposed to a child his boss tried to murder.

“He’s fine, no thanks to you,” Tony said, stepping forward. The man lowered his hands and slipped them into his jacket pockets. “Hands where I can see them!” After another chuckle, the man removed his hands and let them sit loosely at his waist. “Friday, scan him. Anything of interest?”

“James Wesley, thirty-nine years old. No next of kin. Graduated from Columbia summa cum laude in foreign affairs and business. Has been associated with Wilson Fisk for twenty years, in both business and personal relations,” Friday said, effortlessly. “The only electronic device on his person is a mobile phone, which is currently on, but not sending out any signals or messages. He is currently carrying a Smith & Wesson SW1911SC handgun. It is resting in his chest holster.”

“Drop your gun and your phone, now,” Tony said, stepping forward. When Wesley didn’t move, Tony fired a warning shot, low enough to keep the wall behind him intact, but strong enough to leave a scorch mark behind. After the demonstration, Wesley removed his cell phone from his pants pocket and his firearm from its holster, then set both on the floor in front of him.

“Twenty years, huh?” Tony asked. “That’s a long time to be loyal to a madman.”

Wesley shrugged indifferently. “My employer wants what’s best for this city.”

“And what’s best is organized crime?”

“It’s all steps in a process, Mr. Stark. I can’t expect you to understand.”

“You’re damn right I don’t understand. Why did he want to kill the kid?” Tony asked, seething.

Wesley frowned at him, looking away. “Mr. Parker—didn’t follow orders,” he said slowly.

“He’s a child!”

“A child who knew the risks that came with disobeying,” Wesley replied levelly.

“How could you condone what happened to him? Jesus Christ, he—he _liked_ you. Even after everything that went down, he still thought you were okay. How could you do that to him?” Tony was seething and clenching his teeth. Peter said Wesley seemed to care about him, at least a little bit.

“Really?” Wesley said blithely, raising an eyebrow. He was picking Tony apart with his eyes, his expression cold and calculating. “I’m surprised. Most people don’t think highly of someone who shot them.”

Tony felt suddenly cold. His heartrate spiked and his hands started to tremble. “What?”

“Oh?” Wesley asked, smirking. “I didn’t realize you didn’t—well. I suppose it doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago, after all.”

“That kid was never shot. I would have known,” Tony growled.

Wesley chuckled. “He ran to you for help and is still keeping secrets, I see. I guess I had more of an impact than I thought.”

“Look here you sick son of a—”

“I didn’t hit him. Maybe that’s why. It wasn’t for lack of trying though,” Wesley went on. “I’m sorry it even came to that. I was so surprised when he realized what we were having him do. He was easy, at first. Just a few words of praise here and there and he was eating out of the palm of my hand. He was so desperate for someone, after his uncle passed.”

Tony fired another blast, making Wesley flinch. “Shut up,” Tony said coldly.

“Come now, Mr. Stark, why are you delaying the inevitable? Either you’re going to kill me or you’re not. All these dramatics are a bit excessive, don’t you think?”

“What is wrong with you?” Tony shouted. “God, it’s like you want—” Tony cut himself off. Wesley was way too calm. Friday hadn’t alerted him that security was coming. No one was on their way to help him. When Tony really began to study him, he looked resigned.

He looked relieved.

“You do,” Tony said, lowering his arm. Wesley frowned, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “You want to die. You want me to kill you.”

Wesley blinked. He didn’t contradict Tony’s words. Tony shook his head, laughing under his breath.

“What, you realized everything you’ve done for the last twenty years has been wrong? You’ll get your wish when Fisk finds out I got away under your watch.” Tony moved to the window.

“Wilson won’t kill me,” Wesley said softly. Tony turned around, still clutching his prize. Wesley was staring at a wall. “We’re—I’m his friend. Probably his only friend.”

Tony frowned, hovering by the window ledge. “Well, your friend’s secrets are about to be made public,” he said with a shrug, not feeling much remorse for the despondent man in front of him. “You can warn him if you like. It won’t make any difference in the end.”

“No,” Wesley replied quietly, still staring thoughtfully at the wall. “I suppose it won’t.”

“Don’t be surprised when he throws you under the bus,” Tony said, waving as he climbed out of the window. Wesley said nothing in response. Tony flew away, heading back to the tower. As soon as he removed the files about Peter, he would give it to Matt to give to that Ulrich guy.

The Kingpin wouldn’t even know what hit him.

* * *

**James stood stock still, staring at the open window.** A breeze rustled the blinds, bringing in the chill of autumn.

James always hated autumn.

Autumn was when he was when his family threw him away. Autumn was when he realized he was nothing. Garbage. Worthless.

Useless.

_“Is this the life you want for yourself?”_

_James looked up, startled at the presence of the goliath before him. James pressed himself further into the brick wall of the alleyway he stayed in. His greasy locks fell in front of his eyes, and he was covered in dirt, sweat, and his own sick—a nasty side effect of coming down. He trembled. It was starting again. He needed to find his dealer. John would get him what he needed. He just had to get around this pristine giant to do it._

_“John? John doesn’t run this territory anymore,” the man chuckled. His voice was low and smokey, and the sight of him sparked an awareness for danger James didn’t realize he still had. “What’s your name?”_

_James answered. The man smiled at him, low and slow, both menacing and kind. The duality of man could be seen in that grin._

_“Well, Wesley, I can help you, if you’ll let me.”_

Wilson had seen him. He had seen something there that no one else could. When his own family turned away from him, Wilson had seen his worth. He saved him. He stopped James from becoming nothing. He helped James climb out of the cesspool where his life had taken root, and helped him beat back a demon that took the shape of a needle without requesting anything beyond companionship and loyalty, and loyalty was something James had given him freely.

James let out a shuddering breath, turning back to his phone and gun on the floor.

Wilson saved him, but James couldn’t do the same for him. James failed.

He tried. God knew he tried. He saw what Wilson was becoming over the years. He saw it when they first met. Wilson saw people as things to possess. Friendship was precious, and not something he could afford with many. He trusted James, and James let it happen. James saw what he was becoming. He saw how the man’s altruistic ideas turned to selfish desires, and he never said a word against him. Wilson was going to change the world. James never doubted that, and still didn’t, but it seemed Wilson was no longer going to change the world for the better.

Wesley stooped down to pick up his phone, crouching over his gun. He lowered himself further until he sat on the thick red carpeting, staring at the firearm.

Peter. Peter wanted to change the world, too. Peter looked at James as though he had all the answers. He looked at Wilson as though he hung the moon.

James never knew how painful it would feel to be a disappointment to a child.

But he disappointed Peter over and over again, never improving, never changing. He always took and always hurt. He failed Peter even worst than he failed Wilson.

Perhaps he never really beat that demon back, after all.

James took off his glasses, folded them up and tucked them into his jacket pocket. Then, he did the last favor he could for the man he owed everything. He pressed the green call icon and brought the phone up to his ear.

_“Wesley?”_

James warned him. He did not waste breath on unnecessary words. Wilson had to know everything now. He would decide his own fate from there.

James disconnected the call and tucked his phone into his pocket, frightened and relieved; hopeless and reassured. There was nothing left.

**He picked up his gun.**

* * *

“I’m just saying, if we sneak to the same lab at Oscorp, all of us could be Spider-People! There could be a team of Spider-Men to fight crime in New York!”

“No!”

Miles was sitting in a chair next to Peter’s bed, doodling on his side table. He rolled his eyes at Ned’s quick dismissal. “Dude, you can’t tell me it wouldn’t be cool to be Spider-Man.”

“I just want to say I’m a woman, and I identify as a woman, so I find your exclusion of my gender a little bit sexist,” MJ said. She was sitting at the foot of Peter’s bed, sketching in her notebook.

“Sorry, MJ.”

Ned sat in the other chair next to Peter, fiddling with his phone and occasionally showing Peter funny videos he saw. “Seeing what Peter just went through, and what we went through by association, I think I’m good being the guy in the chair, you know?”

“Whatever,” Miles said, giving up on the topic. Peter stayed quiet, picking at the threads of his blanket and randomly looking at his phone, not able to focus on anything. As soon as he was lucid again, he told them what was happening, and how he was working for the Kingpin. He explained how all the stupid stuff he was doing was to keep them and May safe, and he told them about all the white lies he told, which he thought was for their own protection. Ned was disappointed, but quickly understood his point of view and forgave him. Miles was strangely understanding of the whole thing. He seemed to expect it, once he noticed how close Peter got with his Uncle.

_“Aaron’s not a bad guy, but my dad says sometimes, he makes bad choices. My dad never thought his work with Fisk was legit, really. At least, not all of it.”_

MJ had glared at him, smacked him in his still healing shoulder, then apologized profusely for not thinking of his injuries before leaving the room. When she came back, she told him in no uncertain terms how stupid he was, and that he should have trusted them.

_“Peter, we’re your friends!”_

_“I know, but I didn’t want you to get hurt.”_

_“We could have helped you, though! Don’t you know how many books I’ve read about true crime, and gang life? We could have started building something for you to fight Fisk with right from day one if we knew. You have to let us in, sometimes.”_

_Peter stared at her, smiling. She had this fierceness about her that was startling and heartwarming at the same time._

“Hey, bug boy,” Peter shook himself, blushing when he realized MJ was trying to talk to him. “What’s wrong? Do I have something on my face?”

Peter swallowed down against the sudden feeling of butterflies in his stomach, wondering at their appearance. “Uh, no. Sorry. I was just—uh….”

MJ raised an eyebrow. “You’re such a loser.”

Peter grinned sheepishly at her. She turned her sketchbook around to show him a new Spider-Man logo she was designing.

“Oh, hey!” Ned exclaimed, looking at his phone. “Something happened with Fisk! Mr. Stark and Mr. Murdock did it!”

“What?” Peter asked, leaning forward, trying to read Ned’s phone upside down. MJ rolled her eyes and grabbed the television remote, turning it on to a local news channel.

“Wilson Fisk’s whereabouts are unknown,” the news anchor said. “Since news broke about his supposed seedy endeavors, he has not been available for comment. Authorities have just confirmed that they have been trying to locate Wilson Fisk for questioning. Fisk appears to have been operating as The Kingpin for at least a decade, according to the evidence provided by the Daily Bugle.”

“Wow,” Peter said, gaping. “Wow that was—that was so quick.”

“Of course it was,” MJ said coolly. “The press is the best way to get the information out about him. He may have a lot of control in this city, but not enough to protect him from video evidence. He can’t ‘fake news’ his way out of it.”

“We have breaking news about the Fisk investigation,” the anchor said, voice very serious. “It appears police have gone to Fisk Tower to try to question the man, and have found his Personal Assistant, James Wesley, dead in his office.”

“What?” Peter gasped, leaning forward. Wesley was dead?

“The details are still unclear. According to our source, Wesley has been found with a gunshot wound which appears to be self-inflicted. More on this story to come, after this.”

“Peter?” Miles asked tentatively. “Are you okay?”

Peter looked down at his hands and realized he was clutching so tightly at his bedspread that it was starting to tear. He did not relax his grip.

“I—I can’t,” Peter stuttered, shaking his head a little. MJ scooted closer to him and put her hand on his knee. He looked up to see MJ tilting her head and reaching a hand towards his face. She carefully rubbed her thumb across his cheek, and Peter was startled when he felt tears falling from his eyes.

MJ picked up the remote and turned off the television. “I’m sorry, Peter,” she said, scooting even closer. Peter sniffled and bowed his head, feeling the bed creak and sink next to him. Ned’s warm arm was wrapped around his shoulders, tugging him close.

“This is totally a manly hug,” he said seriously, and Peter wrapped his arms tightly around his friend as he buried his face in his shoulder.

“The manliest,” MJ agreed. The bed dipped on the other side and Peter picked his head up to find Miles sitting next to him. The younger boy nudged his shoulder.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” Peter whispered, hiding his face again.

“Pete,” Miles said seriously, “you just went through some really messed up stuff. You’re allowed a manly hug. I mean, I might even give you a manly hug.”

“Ugh. Not me,” MJ said. Peter looked up and saw her eyes twinkling. “I’m allergic to feelings.”

Peter chuckled, wiping the tears off his face.

“You know what you need?” MJ asked. Peter shrugged, pulling himself away from Ned, but keeping the other’s arm around him. She bent down and grabbed her bag off the floor, digging inside of it, sketchbook forgotten.

“What?” Peter asked.

MJ pulled out a package and tossed it in Peter’s lap. Peter laughed at the sight of the sour gummies he always grabbed from Delmar’s.

“I figured you could use a break from whatever hospital junk they’re feeding you,” MJ said with a shrug. Peter slowly picked up the package, carefully tearing it open.

“Thank you.”

* * *

Tony rubbed his face, glad that Happy could finally bring those kids and their families home. Pepper had gotten all their signatures on non-disclosure agreements, so it seemed Peter’s identity was safe with them. May rolled her eyes when he started passing them out.

_“Rosa, Ed, are you going to say anything about this?” she asked Ned’s parents as Tony insisted on their signatures._

_Rosa shrugged, tucking a long dark strand of hair behind her ear. “Considering Peter is like another son to me, I have to say no, but whatever helps Tony sleep at night, I guess.”_

Once Tony had word that the Kingpin was out of the country, and that Peter was officially out of his grasp, he sent the boy’s friends home with a decent security detail. He frowned, poking uselessly at a new wingsuit for the Falcon in his lab.

“Not even going to give it to him anyway,” Tony muttered, idly tightening a gear in the wing mechanism.

“Boss,” Friday said, cutting off his music. Tony frowned and looked up. “Peter is no longer in his room. He appears to have climbed out the window.”

“What!” Tony exclaimed. “Friday, where is he? Do you have eyes on him?” he dropped the tool and sprung to his feet, dashing toward the lab doors.

“It appears he has settled on the roof,” Friday replied. Tony thought he was going to have a heart attack. The roof of the compound was one thing, but the tower was one of the tallest skyscrapers in the city, and that kid didn’t have his webshooters. “He also does not have a coat.” Tony left the lab, snagging an old MIT sweatshirt as he went. He got on the elevator, tapping his foot impatiently as it made the climb to the roof access point.

“Status, Fri.”

“Mr. Parker has not moved from his spot,” Friday said, easily. The elevator doors opened and Tony practically burst onto the roof, scanning in the dark until he saw Peter, hunched over and shivering. He was curled in on himself, his back against the cement wall that acted as a barrier between the roof and the edge of the building.

“Jesus, kid,” Tony said, walking forward. Peter lifted his head. “You scared me half to death.” Tony walked closer to Peter, frowning when he saw the kid was wiping at his face. Tony pressed his lips together as he approached. Peter clearly came up here to be alone, and maybe to think. Tony should let him have a moment or two, but this was too high up for his liking.

“Sorry,” Peter mumbled, when Tony reached the edge. Tony stood over him a moment before handing him the sweatshirt that was wadded up in his hands.

“Here,” Tony said. After a heartbeat, Peter reached up and took it, pulling it on over his head. It was just about the right size. Tony smiled fondly, remembering that he was about Peter’s age when he got the damn thing.

“Thanks, Tony,” Peter murmured. Tony tried to ignore how pleased he was that Peter finally felt comfortable enough to use his first name. The billionaire cricked his neck and lowered himself down on the cold cement, settling next to Peter.

“So,” he began.

“So?” Peter asked back. His sounded tired. Tony sighed.

“Do I need to ask?”

Peter shrugged. “What? Why I’m on the roof instead of in that room?”

“You weren’t being kept there, Peter,” Tony said. “Didn’t the nurse tell you that you had free reign of the tower when she took out your IV?”

Peter shrugged again. “So this isn’t free reign of the tower, then?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Ugh. You’re one of those technicality people, aren’t you?” Peter gave him a half-smile at that. Tony nudged his arm. “What’s up?”

“I don’t really—I don’t know how to talk about it,” Peter replied, hesitantly. “It’s—it’s weird.”

“You know, my whole life has dealt with weird. I’m an expert on the subject,” Tony replied, nonchalantly.

Peter sat very still beside him. A cold wind blew, making Tony shiver. He watched the boy bundle further into the borrowed sweatshirt.

“What happens now?” Peter asked, quietly. Tony blinked, unsure what to say. “I mean, no one—no one got Mr. Fisk,” Peter elaborated. “He just left.”

“Ah,” Tony replied, drumming his fingers against his knee. “Well, he’s definitely left the country, and with the amount of evidence against him, it will be very, very difficult for him to come back without being arrested.”

“So that’s it?” Peter asked, turning to Tony. His eyes were wide and disbelieving. “He—he did all that horrible stuff, and made me do all that horrible stuff, and he just gets to go and—what, live in Tahiti forever?”

“I’m pretty sure he went to Bora Bora, actually,” Tony said. Peter blinked, then scoffed and turned his head away. “Hey, hey,” Tony said, soothingly, “I didn’t mean to—sorry. That was a joke. A really bad joke.”

Peter shrugged in response, resting his chin on his knees. “I don’t understand,” Peter said sullenly. “I don’t—how can he just walk away with nothing happening to him?”

Tony sighed, clasping a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“Mr. Wesley is dead,” Peter said, suddenly. Tony gripped his shoulder and looked at him. Peter was staring as spot on the ground. His voice trembled slightly. “He—the news said he killed himself.”

“I know,” Tony said.

“Why?” Peter asked. “Why did he—why did he die and Fisk—I don’t _understand_.”

Tony moved his arm to wrap around Peter’s shoulders. “I don’t know, Underoos,” he said softly. “I wish I did. I wish I knew why that Wesley guy did it. You got to remember though, he lived a hard life. Sometimes people just—”

“He made a mistake, Tony,” Peter replied. “He made a mistake, and Fisk took advantage of him, just like me.”

“No, Peter—”

“Yes,” Peter said, resolutely. “He was a kid, just like me. And he was in a bad spot, just like me. I could have—I could have ended up just like—and then he shot himself and I—” Peter let out a sob, pressing his face against his legs. Tony tugged him closer, feeling an incredible sadness at seeing the kid cry.

“Listen up, Underoos. I’m only saying this once.” Peter sniffled and turned his head toward Tony again. “I’m not a feely guy, okay? Emotional crap makes me sick,” Peter let out a watery chuckle and Tony smiled a little. “You are nothing like James Wesley, okay? You are totally and completely different. You two may have been in similar circumstances, but look at what you did. Look at how you got yourself out, and helped thousands of New Yorkers in the process?”

“But—”

“Ah, nope. I’m not done,” Tony continued, holding up a finger to silence his protégé. “Yes, you made mistakes. That’s human, Pete. We all lose our way sometimes. What’s important is finding your way back.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “W-what?”

Tony frowned, watching Peter’s face. His mouth hung open and his brow was scrunched. He stared at Tony as if he sprouted a second head.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Come on, kid. If there was ever a role model for figuring out how to do the right thing after you’ve done the wrong thing it’s me. Up until Afghanistan, I didn’t even _know_ what I was doing was wrong. Then after that, my life has been a series of choices and consequences, and some were good, and others were very, _very_ bad. If someone like me—someone who had to get over a lot of conditioning to see what he was doing was wrong—can change and start doing alright, I have no doubts someone as good as you can.”

“You—think I’m good?” Peter asked, still staring at him in surprise.

“What the hell, Pete?” Tony asked with a laugh. “You’re the best kid I know.”

Peter’s lip quivered and he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Tony’s collarbone. Tony stiffened, then held him a little tighter, smiling over the top of his head.

Tony cleared his throat. “This isn’t a hug.”

“No?” Peter asked. He started to pull away, but Tony kept his arm firmly around his shoulders.

“Nope,” Tony continued. “Just a bid for warmth. It’s freezing up here.”

Peter laughed and Tony relaxed his grip, letting Peter slide away. Peter smiled at him, relaxing from his hunched position.

“How about we go inside?” Tony offered. “I can make us some coffee—nope. On second thought, I can make us peppermint cocoa. I know it’s a little early to start the holiday drinks—”

“Can it be regular cocoa?” Peter asked as he stood up. He reached down and pulled Tony up from his sitting position with ease, making the air whoosh out of the older man’s lungs. Sometimes, Peter’s strength startled him. “Ever since the bite, something about peppermint really puts me off.”

“Huh,” Tony said, leading the way to the roof access door. “Guess that old wives’ tale is true.”

“What old wives’ tale?”

“Spiders don’t like peppermint,” Tony said, pulling open the door and pushing Peter inside. “Hey, if that’s true, maybe you’re a little more spider-like than anyone thought. Do you think you could communicate with spiders?”

“Tony,” Peter whined, rolling his eyes.

“Seriously. Being able to summon a horde of spiders could come in handy.”

Peter nudged him. “You’re worse than Ned.”

Tony smiled as Peter started walking down the staircase, not bothering to give Tony his sweatshirt back. Tony didn’t think he’d be asking for it anyway.

It was a good look for his kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TRIGGER WARNING** Wesley has suicidal thoughts, and it is implied he commits suicide after these thoughts. 
> 
> Fun Writing Notes:
> 
> 1\. The recordings that Fisk has? I yoinked that from the Ultimate Spider-Man comics. No seriously. What Tony does here is essentially what Peter does in those comics. 
> 
> 2\. Do you guys remember Janet Williams from chapter 4? I mean, I don’t expect you to. That was a long time ago. ;-)
> 
> 3\. *****This is a Netflix Daredevil Spoiler. If you have not watched all of Season 1, and do not want it spoiled, skip to the next note.*****  
>  Hear me out about Wesley. There is a fan theory about his demise. When he captures Karen, he has her at his mercy. He has her, she is defenseless. He grabs her to protect Fisk. He does his villain speech. He puts his gun on the table between them, as if he doesn’t expect her to pick it up and shoot him. I call BS. He’s been working with Fisk for a long time, and he has had a very, very hard time of it. He’s looking for an out. Karen unwittingly gives it to him. Nothing else really makes sense. Wesley is not cocky. He’s not flashy. He’s cold and witty and calculating. I’m pretty sure he knew exactly what was going to happen when he put that gun down.  
> His thought process after his confrontation with Iron Man is fed by that. Wesley did not have an easy life (in my headcanon, and as evidenced by his portrayal in the series). He struggled, and he had constant conflict between his ideas and his actions in this story. When things came to a head for him, he felt this was his only option. 
> 
> 4\. Look, y’all. Peter just has really good friends, okay? They know his favorite candy, and not to make fun of him when he needs a hug, and to just kind of joke and be normal and all that. I just wanted a big group hug, okay? Let me have it. 
> 
> 5\. I have always had it in my heart and head that Tony would continue building shit for the rogue Avengers.
> 
> 6\. I love when Tony gives Peter his old MIT sweatshirts in fics, but they’re always depicted as huge on Peter. And I’m like—they’re close to the same size now? And Tony was 15 when he went to college? Wouldn’t it just fit him normally? So yeah. This sweatshirt fits him normally. Because that is what makes sense to me. 
> 
> 7\. Hello, Ben. Didn’t know you like to use Tony as a mouthpiece, occasionally. ;-). 
> 
> 8\. So. There was some speculation about Tony kicking Fisk’s ass. That was never, _ever_ in the plan. There are two ways to get rid of Fisk (to my knowledge). Kill him, or reveal him. Nearly every time he’s revealed, he leaves the country, but occasionally he goes to jail. I had always planned on Fisk escaping to come back another day. It’s part of what makes him such a terrifying bad guy. Even when he gets caught, he still gets away, and he can still come back once he has enough resources to bury the scandal under the rug. This is not to open up the story to a sequel, or to leave the story open-ended. This is just how I understand this character to work, and this ending (him escaping, Peter freaking out about it, etc.) was planned when I very first outlined the story.
> 
> That's all I have. I think this is my last directors cut. ;-) Thanks again everyone. The epilogue will be out very soon (possibly later today). Remember, if you enjoyed it, please leave a kudos and I'd LOVE any comments you have. I want to know your thoughts. Feel free to come holler at me, [@haunko](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.


	30. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snippets of Peter's life, sans Kingpin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. It's official. It's done. 
> 
> Thanks again, everyone. I'm so glad this was received well, and it was so fun to write. If you like my style, I do have some other works. ~waggles eyebrows~ Don't ignore this shameless plug. Go check them out. ;-)
> 
> If you haven't yet, please leave a kudos if you enjoyed. As always, I would **_*love*_** to hear your thoughts, so please leave a comment to share them!

“Hey Penis! What’s it like working for a criminal?”

Peter sighed, ignoring the bully but MJ stopped short next to him and spun around. She marched over to Flash and shoved her finger in his chest, backing him up into a locker. Ned and Peter gaped at the sight.

“What the hell is your problem, Eugene?” she seethed. Flash stuttered, eyes wide and terrified as he looked up at her. “Because you know what? That’s not funny. Peter could have been seriously hurt. All the people working for Fisk could have been hurt. We’re lucky he’s okay. It’s not funny, you’re not funny, and you better back off!” Flash blinked and nodded in agreement. MJ huffed and stomped off to rejoin Ned and Peter.

“MJ,” Peter began, swallowing a little, “what was that?”

“That, Parker, is what friends do,” she replied, walking forward with her head held high, leaving the boys behind her. She turned her head back and frowned at them. “Come on. We’ll be late for history.”

“She’s so badass,” Ned whispered as they jogged to catch up with her.

“Yeah,” Peter replied, somewhat awed.

* * *

“My folks are signing me up for a lottery. There’s a charter school in Brooklyn that specializes in STEM stuff,” Miles said, tossing Peter’s baseball in the air.

“That’s great, Miles!” Peter said with a grin. His Spanish homework was spread in front of him, while Miles’s social studies was taking over his corner of the table.

“Yeah. Hey, what was Wakanda’s biggest export again?”

* * *

Peter bent backwards, neatly dodging Matt’s fist.

“Very good,” Matt said, crouching down and sweeping Peter’s legs out from under him. Peter fell back on the mat and the air was pushed from his lungs unexpectedly.

Matt smirked as he offered Peter a hand up. “Let’s go again, Spidey.”

* * *

“ _Bambino_ ,” May said as she approached Peter, “are you okay?”

Peter shrugged, curled up in a corner of the couch. May sat next to him. After a moment, he held out his hand and she took it. His eyes were bloodshot.

“Do you want to do second therapy, today?” she asked, gently. Peter sniffled and nodded.

“Okay,” she replied, rubbing her thumb over his hand. “How about ice cream? I got Moose Tracks.”

* * *

“This picture is amazing, Peter,” MJ was staring at Peter’s camera, zooming into the photo. “How did you catch yourself doing a backflip between skyscrapers?”

“It's crazy, the places I can stick my camera in this city.”

* * *

“I don’t like her, Ned.”

“You totally like her.”

“I don’t. She’s just cool, that’s all. And my friend.”

“You’ve been saving her notes that she writes you in class, Peter. Come on. You like her.”

“You save _my_ notes. That doesn’t mean you like me. Wait, do you?”

“Well, you’re good looking and a nice guy, but I don’t swing that way. And don’t start quoting Avenue Q.”

“Avenue what?”

“Dude, what? You have to listen! It’s so bad. You’ll love—wait. No. No distracting me. You need to tell her you like her!”

“Ned, I don’t like MJ. She’s just a friend.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“So you noticing her new flannel was just coincidence?”

“I notice clothes, sometimes.”

“And grabbing her extra stuff for Decathlon?”

“She needed help!”

“And that week when she had a cold and you brought her May’s chicken soup and green tea from that coffee place she likes?”

“…”

“…”

“Okay, _maybe_ I like her.”

* * *

“Hey, Underoos, hand me that screwdriver.”

“Sure thing, Tony.”

They had been working pretty quietly that day. Peter had been mulling over something, sighing in the way only teenagers could.

“Okay,” Tony said, putting down his tools and spinning around after about the fiftieth sigh. “What’s wrong?”

“Huh?” Peter raised his head, putting his webshooter down. “What?”

“Kid, you are a million miles away,” Tony said, folding his arms over his chest. “Spill.”

Peter blushed. Full on blushed from the top of his forehead down to his neck. “Oh, nothing! It’s nothing!” he squeaked.

The kid squeaked like a freaking mouse.

It was adorable and terrifying all at once.

Tony raised an eyebrow at him. Peter looked at the ceiling and walls for minute before glancing back at his mentor. When he saw Tony’s attention was still on him, he deflated.

“It’s so dumb.”

“Try me,” Tony said blandly.

Peter sighed. Again. “There’s—there’s this—”

_Issue with the therapist. Kingpin sighting. New and terrifying villain prowling around the streets of Queens._

“There’s this girl,” Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck.

_Oh._

_Wait, what?_

“A girl?” Tony spluttered. Peter winced and spun back around, fiddling with his webshooter.

“I told you it’s dumb.”

“No, no way kid, hang on,” Tony wheeled his chair over so he could sit next to Peter. “Come on, girls aren’t stupid. Also, I’m good at girls, if I do say so myself. Talk to me.”

Peter side-eyed him. “You really don’t think it’s dumb?”

“Cross my heart,” Tony said seriously. “Who is it? What’s she like?”

“It’s—you met her,” Peter said, smiling shyly. “MJ. Do you remember her?”

Tony tapped his chin. “Was she the girl who came to the tower back in fall?” Peter nodded. Tony pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Well, she seemed alright to me. Tell me about her.”

“Okay, I just—she’s amazing. She’s really smart and funny and scary—”

“She scares you?” Tony asked, alarmed.

Peter shrugged. “She doesn’t _scare_ me—she just—she makes me nervous? Like—like swinging through the city or riding a roller coaster.” Tony pressed his lips together to contain his smirk. _Ah, young love._ “And she’s an incredible artist, and she argues way better than me, and she’s—she’s just amazing, Tony. I—I really like her.”

Tony nodded. “Yep. Sounds like a keeper. So what’s your problem?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “I like her, Tony. I like her, but she’s my friend, you know?”

Tony shook his head. “I’m not following you.”

“Well—friends don’t like, date each other, right?”

“Uh, excuse me, if you’re not dating your friend, you’re doing it wrong,” Tony said, clapping a hand on Peter’s shoulder. Peter cast a confused look his way. “I’m serious. I learned that the hard way. All those people I was with, and I wasted time I could have been with Pepper.”

“That’s different, Tony.”

“I’ll beg to differ,” Tony said, chuckling. “Look, it took me forever to figure out that you can have a serious, loving, romantic relationship with a friend. Let me pass on my knowledge to you, young padawan.”

“Did you just make a Star Wars reference?” Peter asked, eyes twinkling.

“What’s worrying you so much?”

Peter shrugged. “What if I ask her out, and things get like—weird?”

Tony thought about his answer carefully. “Well, I’m not gonna lie, kiddo. That’s a possibility. But if MJ is as smart as _you_ seem to think, and you’re as smart as _I_ seem to think, if she doesn’t like you, you’ll still be friends. Most likely after a weird, awkward, week-long period.”

Peter laughed at that. “Okay, that’s not so bad, I guess.”

“So, how are you going to ask her out tomorrow?” Peter grinned and shook his head.

“We have the field trip to MoMA tomorrow,” he replied. “And after that I gotta take my driver’s test.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. Peter grinned.

“Thanks, Tony.”

“Anytime,” Tony replied, wheeling back to his work area. “Hey, have I told you about the recurring dream I have that Pepper is pregnant?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Writing Notes (I lied. It wasn't my last director's cut):
> 
> 1\. MJ is a BAMF. You can't convince me otherwise. 
> 
> 2\. So, my sister is going through therapy right now, and we both enjoy this comedian named Danile Sloss, who at the end of one of his stand-ups talks about how he does second therapy with a friend. When we watched this special, she looked at me and said, "WE NEED TO DO THIS!" Therapy is a hard thing. I think I would need to get drunk after therapy. Good lord. Its heavy stuff. So, May does second therapy with Peter. With ice cream and bad b-flicks. 
> 
> 3\. Avenue Q is a broadway musical from 2003 that is just... amazing. Just... Just go YouTube that fantastical creation. It's not PC, but that's the point. It's supposed to shove something in your face in a funny-but-I'm-gonna-make-you-listen way.
> 
> 4\. Does Endgame happen the same way? Who knows. This is an AU. Anything goes. _Anything._ I'll leave that up to your imagination if things play out remotely the same as before. 
> 
> That's all, folks! I hope you enjoyed it. If you want to say hi, come holler at me over at [Tumblr.](https://hanuko.tumblr.com/) Thanks for reading!


End file.
